EL! 


PERKINS 


UC-NRLF 


WITH 

MULTIFORM 
ILLUSTRATIONS 


LARGE) 


\ 


BY 


UNCLE  CONSIDER 


LIBRARY 


U  N  i  V  E  i 


Y  OF 


CALIFORNIA 
SAN   'A    CRUZ 


UNCLE  CONSIDER'S  ADVICE. 

"Don't  you  never  blow  a  mads  branes  out  to  git  his  money,  Eli  ; 
but  you  jes'  sly  aroun*  an'  blow  his  money  out,  an'  so  git  his  branes." 


ELI    PERKINS 


(AT  LARGE}-. 


HIS     SAYINGS     AND     DOINGS. 


BY 


MELVILLE  DLANDON 


WITH    MULTIFORM    ILLUSTRATIONS    BY   UNCLE   CONSIDER, 

After  models  by  those  designing  young  men,  Nast,  Darley,  Fredericks, 
Ey  tinge,  White,  Stephens ',  and  otJiers* 


NEW   YORK: 
J.    B.    FORD    &    COMPANY. 

1875- 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1875,  by 

MELVILLE     D.     LANDON, 

in  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


TS 


E6- 

PREFACE. 


THE  literary  part  of  this  book  may  not  be  very  nice, 
but  the  cover  is  pretty  and  the  pictures  are  life-like. 

The  picture  of  my  Uncle  Consider  on  the  first  page  is 
considered  a  good  likeness.  I  presume  the  reader  recog- 
nizes the  broad,  massive,  thick  Perkins  skull.  To  get 
that  soft,  sweet  expression  of  the  countenance  in  my 
uncle's  picture,  I — I,  sat  for  it  myself.  I  often  sit  for 
the  artists  when  they  want  to  produce  their  master- 
pieces. I  sit  for  all  kinds  of  pictures  —  landscapes, 
animals,  marine  views,  and 

The  last  picture  I  sat  for  was  a  farm-yard  scene.  It 
represented  a  "pious  farmer  feeding  his  geese."  Henry 
Ward  Beecher  he  sat  for  the  farmer,  while  I  sat  for  the 
rest  of  the  picture. 

I  am  a  great  artist  in  my  way.  I  drew  all  the  pictures 
in  this  book — drew  'em  in  a  lottery. 

Besides  drawing  nice  pictures,  I'm  studying  now  so 
as  to  draw  hundred  dollar  checks  and  drafts  such  as 
Jay  Cooke  drew  and  Daniel  Drew. 

The  first  picture  I  ever  drew  represented  "  Sir  Walter 
Scott  leading  his  victorious  forces  into  the  city  of 


iv  PREFACE. 

Mexico."  The  critics  admired  it  exceedingly,  but  they 
said  it  had  one  fault — they  could  n't  tell  which  was  Sir 
Walter  Scott  and  which  was  the  city  of  Mexico.  So  I 
gave  it  to  my  family  clergyman  as  his  annual  donation — 
and  he  was  so  delighted  with  this  picture,  and  so  grateful 
to  me,  that  he  hung  this  picture  in  his  study — and  he 
said  he  wanted  to  hang  me  in  his  back  yard. 

E.  P. 


P.S. — Dear  Reader :  Let  me  impress  upon  your  mind  the  fact 
that  the  pictures  in  this  book  are  all  real  pictures,  and  not  mere 
painted  imitations  like  Michael  Angelo's  "  Last  Judgment "  by 
Bierstadt,  and  Church's  "  Heart  of  the  Andes,"  by  another  fellow. 

You  will  never  know  how  much  I  admire  and  appreciate  these 
beautiful  pictures — how  I  love  them ;  and  the  fact  that  you  love  and 
appreciate  them^too — the  fact  that  you  admire  the  author  and  his 

pictures, — why  it  shows  you  have  a  massive  intellect. 

E.  P. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

UNCLE  CONSIDER,  ON  TEMPERANCE,      .        •       •        •        .  9 

SOLITAIRE  DIAMONDS, 13 

ELI  PERKINS  IN  HOT  WATER, 16 

ELI  ON  FIRE-PROOF  HOUSES, 20 

DREADFUL  PROFANITY, 23 

ELI  PERKINS'S  PEN  PICTURES, 24 

A  FIFTH  AVENUE  EPISODE, 28 

A  LONESOME  MAN, 30 

ABOUT  CHILDREN, 34 

SERVANTGALISM, 38 

UPPERTENDOM, .40 

LETTER  FROM  ANT  CHARITY, 45 

THE  LITERARY  GIRL, .51 

UNCLE  CONSIDER  AS  A  CRUSADER, 55 

ELI  IN  LOVE,         .         ...,.,..  58 

BROWN'S  BOYS,         ........  60 

A  BROWN'S  BOY  IN  LOVE, 66 

BROWN'S  BOYS  IN  NEW  YORK, 68 

RICH  BROWN'S  BOYS, 74 

BROWN'S  GIRLS, 78 

ADVICE  TO  YOUNG  MEN, 84 

v 


vi  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

THE  FUNNY  SIDE  OF  FISK, 87 

REV.  ELI  PERKINS, 98 

A  SAD  MAN 102 

A  QUEER  MAN, 104 

ELI'S  HAPPY  THOUGHTS, 106 

THE  LEGAL-MINDED  MAN, 109 

A  GRATEFUL  MAN, in 

A  CONSISTENT  MAN,      . 114 

THE  DANCING  MANIA, 115 

THE  MILITARY  MAN, 117 

THE  HORSE  MAN 119 

THE  Pious  MAN, 120 

A  FRONTIERSMAN 121 

THE  HACKMAN,     4. 124 

SEWERS  AND  SOWERS, 125 

HARD  ON  LAWYERS, 127 

E.  PERKINS — ATTORNEY  AT  LAW,    .        .        .        .        .  129 
How  DONN  PIRATE  THRASHED  ELI  PERKINS,      .        .        .131 

A  DAY  AT  SARATOGA 135 

THE  SWELLS  AT  SARATOGA, 140 

MINNIE  IN  SARATOGA 143 

MARRIED  BROWN'S  BOYS  AT  SARATOGA,        .        .       .        .150 

ELI'S  BELLE  OF  SARATOGA,         .        ,       I        .       .       .  155 

BROWN'S  BOYS  AT  SARATOGA 157 

UP  TO  SNUFF 160 

A  FLIRTING  DODGE,        . 162 

FALL  OF  ANOTHER  CLERGYMAN, 164 

THE  SWELL  DRESS  PARADE,  166 


CONTENTS.  vii 

PAGE 

THE  GOOD  MAN, 169 

OWED  TO  FRANKLIN  STATUE, 172 

A  PARROT  STORY, 172 

THE  RAT  STORY, 173 

TRAVERS  AND  CLEWS, 173 

TRAVERS  ON  FISK  AND  GOULD 174 

PAWN-SHOP  CLOTHES,    .  • 175 

WHERE  DUCKS  LIVE, 175 

FIVE  HUNDRED  DOLLARS  SAVED, 176 

TIP  OF  THE  FASHION, 177 

SHIRKING  FROM  WORK,          .        .        .                ,        .        .  177 

TRUNK  SMASHERS, 178 

ELI  ON  DOMINIE  FORD,        .        .        .        .        .        .        .  179 

A  HARD  NAME, 179 

ELI  ON  THE  F.  F.  C's., 180 

THE  MEANEST  MAN  YET, 181 

NEWSPAPER  GOKE, 182 

ELI  ON  ANA, 182 

ANIMATE  NATURE, 183 

ORIGINAL  POETRY, 183 

COMPLIMENTARY, 184 

BABIES, .184 

TIGHT  LACING 185 

SOM-ET-I-MES, 185 

GRAMMAR, 186 

ELI  PERKINS  BLUNDERS, 186 

NICE  ARABLE  LAND, 188 

MONEY  CLOSE, ^  188 


viii  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

INDIFFERENCE, 189 

THE  WHISKEY  WAR, 189 

FUN  IN  WASHINGTON,  OHIO, 190 

TERRIBLY  INDIGNANT,       . 191 

THE  UNSUSPECTING  MAN,     .        .        .        .        .        .        .191 

ft 

VERY  DANGEROUS, 192 

WOOD, 193 

SARATOGA  BETTING,          .        ••".'•        •        .        .        .  193 

WICKED  AND  PROFANE, 194 

MR.  MARVIN'S  BLUNDER,    .......  194 

POOR  BUT  HONEST, .        .195 

PRECISE  STATEMENTS, 195 

EARLY  TO  BED, 196 

PERSONAL  MATTERS,         .        .        .        .        .        .        .  196 

SMALL  FEET 197 

LITTLE  PERKINSISMS, 199 

ELI  PERKINS'S  NEW  YEAR'S  CALLS 203 

How  ELI  PERKINS  LECTURED  IN  POTTSVILLE,         .        .  211 

SCARING  A  CONNECTICUT  FARMER, 222 

ELI  PERKINS  AS  A  BALLOONATIC, 225 

THE  SHREWD  MAN,   • 233 

LOST  CHILDREN  IN  NEW  YORK,       .....  237 

THE  ABSENT-MINDED  MAN, 246 


PROVERBIAL  PHILOSOPHY. 
"  If  you  get  the  best  of  whiskey,  Eli,  whiskey  will  get  the  best  of  you. 


UNCLE   CONSIDER,   ON    TEMPERANCE. 


"Yes,  Uncle." 

"  Let  me  read  you  suthin'  from  the  Christian  Union" 
and  my  Uncle  Consider  wiped  his  German-silver  glasses 
with  his  red  bandana  handkerchief,  adjusted  them  on 
his  nose,  and  read  : 

"  A  man  in  Jamaica,  Long  Island,  after  drinking  too  much  cider, 
insisted,  against  his  wife's  wishes,  on  smoking  on  a  load  of  hay.  He" 
came  home  that  night  without  any  whiskers  or  eyebrows,  and  the 
iron  work  of  his  wagon  in  a  potato  sack.  '' 


10 

"  This  little  incident,  Eli,"  said  my  Uncle,  looking 
over  his  glasses,  tf  preaches  a  sermon  on  temperance. 
It  teaches  us  all,  in  these  times  of  public  corruption, 
tempered  by  private  assassinations,  to  keep  our  heads 
'spiritoally  level.'  " 

"How  can  this  be  done,  Uncle?"  I  asked. 

"  Jes  lis'en  to  me,  Eli,  and  I'll  tell  you.  I'll  open 
the  flood-gates  of  wisdom  to  you,  so  to  speak."  Then 
my  uncle  put  one  hand  on  my  shoulder,  looked  me 
straight  in  the  face,  and  said  : 

"  Ef  you  drink  wine,  Eli,  you  will  walk  in  winding 
ways;  ef  you  carry  too  much  beer  the  bier  soon  will 
carry  you.  Ef  you  drink  brandy  punches  you  will  get 
handy  punches;  and  ef  you  allers  get  the  best  of 
whiskey,  Eli,  whiskey  '11  allers  get  the  best  of  you." 

"  But  brandy,  Uncle — brandy  has  saved  the  lives  of 
thousands  of  people — hasn't  it?"  I  asked. 

"  Yes,  Eli,  brandy  has  saved  thousands  of  lives,  and 
do  you  want  to  know  how — do  you  ?  By  their  not 
drinking  it,  my  boy ;  that's  the  way  it  saved  their  lives. 
No,  my  boy,  if  you  want  to  keep  your  spirits  up  you 
mus'n't  put  your  spirits  down." 

"  Did  you  ever  know  brandy  and  whiskey  to  do  as 
much  damage  as  water  has,  Uncle  ?"  I  inquired,  mod- 
estly. 

"  Yes,  my  boy,  I  have.  What  has  brandy  done  in 
our  fam'ly?  Didn't  I  see  your  Uncle  Nathaniel  come 
home  from  the  lodge  one  night,  after  he  had  taken 
too  much  whiskey  in  his  water,  an*  didn't  he  stagger 
into  the  kitchen,  get  up  on  a  chair  and  wash  the  face 
of  the  clock,  and  then  deliberately  get  down  and  wind 


11 

* 

up  the  baby  and  try  to  set  it  for'ard  fifteen  minutes? 
Didn't  he!" 

"  But  when  we  read  in  the  Bible,  Uncle,  how  much 
damage  water  has  done — how  it  drowned  Pharaoh,  de- 
moralized Jonah,  and  engulfed  the  whole  human  family 
in  the  deluge,  don't  it  really  make  you  afraid  to  drink 
any  more  water  m  your'n?  Don't  it?"  I  said,  raising 
my  voice.  "  I  know  water  don't  cause  the  destruction 
of  two-dollar  clocks,"  I  continued,  "  nor  wind  up  inno- 
cent babies,  but  it  wound  up  Pharaoh's  whole  army  and 
washed  down  the  whole  human  race  and " 

"  Shut  up,  Eli !  Don't  talk  to  me.  You  make  me 
sick,"  shouted  my  Uncle,  gesticulating  wildly  with  one 
hand  and  wiping  his  eyes  with  the  other.  But  a  mo- 
ment afterward  he  became  tranquil,  and,  looking  over 
his  German-silver  glasses  thoughtfully,  he  continued : 

"No,  no,  Eli,  my  boy,  that  fust  glass  of  wine  has 
ruined  many  a  yung  man.  The  other  nite,"  he  con- 
tinued, wiping  his  eyes,  "  I  drempt  I  saw  my  fav'rite 
sun  adrinken  from  the  floin'  bole.  My  hart  yarned  for 
'im  an*  I  strode  to'rds  'im.  As  he  razed  the  wine- 
glass in  the  air  I  was  seezed  tragick-like  and  sez  I, 
'  O  Rufus,  the  serpent  lurks  in  that  floin'  wine.  Giv' 
— O  giv'  it  to  your  father!'  and  when  he  past  it 
to'rds  me  I  quaffed  it,  serpent  an'  all,  to  keep  it  from 
my  tender  sun.  He  was  saved  from  the  tempter,  Eli, 
and  turnin'  with  tears  in  my  eyes  I  remarkt,  '  O,  my 
hopeful  boy,  do  anything — skoop  burds'  nests,  stun 
French  glass  winders,  match  sents,  play  with  powder, 
take  snuf,  take  benzine,  take  photographs, — anything, 
but  don't  take  that  first  glass  of  wine.' 


12 


"MI   NOBLE  BOY." 


"  *  Fear  not,  father,'  answered  my  noble  boy.  '  That 
first  glass  o'  wine  be  bio  wed.  Us  boys  is  all  a-slingin' 
in  ol'  crow  whisky  and  a-punishin'  gin 
slings  and  brandy  smashers  —  if  we 
ain't  Y'EU  kan  hire  a  hall  for  me — yeu 
kan!' 

"  Mi  noble  boi !  "  and  then  Uncle 
Consider  lighted  a  40-cent  Partaga  and 
proceeded  to  ask  James  what  he  had 
purchased  for  the  week's  supply  from 
the  market. 

"  I  bought  two  gallons  of  sherry,  sir,  four  dozen 
Burgundy,  some  of  the  old  rum  we  had  before,  some 
cheese,  two  boxes  of  cigars,  and  two  loaves  of  bread, 
an'  it's  all  here  in  the  larder." 

"All  right,  James,"  said  my  Uncle,  lookin'  over  his 
glasses,  "but  was  there  any  need  of  spendin'  so  much 
money  for  bread  ?  " 

And  then  Uncle  Consider  went  on  cutting  oif  his 
coupons. 


SOLITAIRE  DIAMONDS. 


SINCE    they  have    discovered 
diamonds    in    Africa,    they   are 
getting    too    common    on    Fifth 
Avenue    to     be    even     noticed. 
One    young    lady,    reported    to 
be  young  and  handsome,  wears 
finger-ring  diamonds  in  her  hair. 
A  Chicago  lady,  staying  at  the 
Fifth   Avenue,   alleged    to    have 
lived  with  her  present  husband 
two    weeks    without    getting    a 
divorce,   wears    diamond    dress- 
buttons;   and   even   one  of  the 
colored    waiters  —  an    African,    too, 
right  from  the  mines — showed  me  a 
diamond  in  his  carpet-bag  weighing 
thirty-seven  pounds,  which  he  offered 
to  sell  to  me  in  the  rough  for  $4 — 
a  clear  indication  that  even  the  Africans 
don't  appreciate  the  treasures  they  have 
found. 

This  morning  a  lady  from  Oil  City 
went  into  Tiffany's  great  jewelry  store  and  said  she 
desired  to  purchase  a  diamond. 

13 


"  I  understand  solitaire  diamonds  are  the  best, 
Mr.  Tiffany,"  she  said,  "please  show  me  some  of 
them." 

u  Here  is  a  nice  solitaire"  answered  the  silver-haired 
diamond  prince.  "  How  do  you  like  it  ?" 

"  Putty  well,"  said  the  lady,  revolving  it  in  her  fin- 
gers. "  It  shines  well,  but  are  you  sure  it  is  a  solitaire, 
Mr.  Tiffany?" 

"  Why,  of  course,  madame." 

"  Wall  now,  if  you  will  warrant  it  to  be  a  real  gen- 
uine solitaire,  Mr.  Tiffany,  I  don't  mind  buying  it  for 
my  daughter  Julia — and — come  to  think,"  she  con- 
tinued, as  she  buttoned  her  six-button  kid-gloves  and 
took  her  parasol  to  leave,  "  if  you've  got  five  or  six 
more  real  genuine  solitaires  just  like  this  one,  I  don't 
mind  takin*  'em  all  so's  to  make  a  big  solitaire  cluster 
for  myself." 

"  Yes,  madame,  we'll  guarantee  it  to  be  a  real  soli- 
taire" smilingly  replied  Mr.  Tiffany,  and  then  the  head 
of  the  house  went  up  to  his  private  office  and  in  the 
presence  of  four  hundred  clerks  sat  down  and  wrote 
his  official  guarantee  that  the  diamond  named  was  a 
genuine  solitaire.  As  the  lady  bore  the  certificate  from 
the  big  jewelry  palace  she  observed  to  herself,  "  There's 
nothing  like  knowing  you've  got  the  genuine  tjring. 
It's  really  so  satisfyin'  to  feel  sure!" 

But  that  evening  her  fiendish  husband  refused  to 
buy  the  diamonds- — "  and  then  this  beautiful  woman," 
said  •  Mr.  Tiffany — "  all  dressed  up  in  silks  and  laces 
and  garnet  ear-rings  cut  on  a  bias,  sat  down  in  the 
hotel  parlor  and  had  to  refuse  to  go  to  a  party  at  Mrs. 


15 

Witherington's  because  her  jewels  did  not  match  her 
polonaise  /" 

"O  dear!"  said  the  great  jeweller,  and  in  the  full- 
ness of  his  grief  he  poured  a  coal  scuttle  into  a  case 
full  of  diamonds  and  watches  and  silver  spoons,  and 
a  basketful  of  diamonds  and  pearls  and  garnets  into 
the  coal  stove. 


ELI  PERKINS  IN  HOT  WATER. 


A 


THE  other  day  I  sent  this  paragraph  to  The  Herald : 

"Mrs.  Johnson  is   said  to  be  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the 
hotel." 

I  didn't  know  what  I  was  doing.  I'm  sorry  I  did 
it.  Now  the  ladies  are  all  down  on  me,  and  poor 
Mrs.  Johnson  is  being  persecuted  on  all  sides.  The 
ladies  are  telling  all  sorts  of 
stories  about  her — how  she  poi- 
soned her  first  husband,  threw 
a  baby  or  two  down  the  well, 
and  all  that. 

A  few  moments  ago  a  tall, 
muscular  gentleman  entered  my 
room,  holding  a  long  cane  in 
his  hand.  He  looked  mad.  I 
wasn't  afraid.  £) !  no ;  but  I  was 
writing,  and  hadn't  time  to  talk. 

"Are  you  Mr.  Perkins?"  he 
commenced. 

"No,  sir;  my  name  is  La — — " 

"  Did    you    write    this    article 
about    Mrs.    Johnson    being    the 
most   beautiful   woman?"  he  in- 
terrupted. 
"Why?"  I  asked  modestly. 

16 


"I'VE   FOUND   YOU." 


17 

"Because  ray  wife  'is  here,  sir — Mrs.  Thompson — a 
very  handsome  woman,  sir,  and — " 

"  Ah  ! .  Thompson — yes ;  only  the  fact  is  I  sent  it 
down  '  Thompson,'  and  those  rascally  type-setters  they 
made  '  Johnson '  of  it.  Why,  yesterday,  Mr.  Thompson, 
I  wrote  about  President  Porter,  the  well-deserving 
President  of  Yale  College,  and  those  remorseless  type- 
setters set  it  up  *  hell-deserving,'  and  President  Porter 
has  been  cutting  me  ever  since." 

"All  right,  then,  Mr.  Perkins,  if  you  really  sent  it 
down,  *  Mrs.  Thompson,'  I'll  put  up  my  pistol  and 
we'll  be  friends;  but  if  I  ever  hear  of  your  writing  of 
any  lady's  being  more  beautiful  than  my  wife  I'll  send 
you  to  New  York  in  a  metallic  case — I  will,  sure  !" 
and  Mr.  Thompson  strode  out  of  the  room. 

A  few  moments  afterward  I  met 
Julia,  my  fiancee — the  one  I  truly 
love. 

"You  look  lovely  to-day,  Julia!" 
I  commenced  as  usual. 

"You're  a  bore,  Eli — you're  a  dread- 
"BASE  DECEIVER!"      ful  person— a  false,  bad  man.    You—" 
"What  is  it,  Julia?  what  has  displeased  you  now?" 
I  interrupted,  sweetly. 

"  Why,  you  base  deceiver  !  have  n't  you  been  calling 
me  beautiful  all  the  time  ?  Haven't  you  made  sonnets 
to  my  eyes,  compared  my  cheeks  to  the  lily,  my  arms. 
to  alabaster;  and  now  here  you  go  and  call  Mrs. 
Johnson  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  the  hotel.  You 
mean,  false,  two-sided  man,  you  !"  and  Julia's  eyes 
snapped  like  sparks  of  electricity. 


18 

"  But,  Julia,  dear  Julia,  let  me  explain,"  I  pleaded. 
"  It  was  all  ruse,  Julia.  Don't  you  know,  newspapers 
tell  a  good  many  lies — they  must,  you  know ;  the 
people  will  have  them;  and  there  is  a  rivalry  between 
them  to  see  which  shall  tell  the  biggest  and  longest 
ones,  you  know,  and  tell  them  the  oftenest  ?" 
"  Yes,"  she  murmured  sweetly. 

"Well,    I've    been    telling   so   much   truth   lately    in 
The  Herald,   folks   told  •  me   to   change   my    course   a 
little — to  throw  in  a  few  lies,  and — " 
"And  you  did?" 

"Why,  yes,  and  this,  was  one  of  them.  Of  course 
you  are  the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Saratoga.  Of 
course  you  are." 

This  seemed  to  make  Julia  happy  again,  and  I 
thought  I  was  all  right.  I  went  back  to  my  room 
thinking  so,  but  I  was  all  wrong. 

In  a  moment,  Rat!  tat!!  TAT!!!  sounded  on  the 
door. 

"  Come  in,"  I  said,  as  I  stood  with  my  pantaloons  off, 
thinking  it  was  the  boy  to  take  this  letter  to  the  post. 
"  Is   it   you  who   is    making  fun   of 
my  wife — you  miserable — " 

"I  beg  pardon,  sir;  if  you  and  your 
wife  will  just  step  back  a  moment,  I'll 
draw   on  my  pantaloons    and   try  and 
tell  you,"  I  said,  trembling  from  head 
"is  IT  YOU,  SIR?"      J.Q  foot 

"  No,  sir,  we  won't  step  back  a  moment,  but  say, 
sir,  did  you  say  my  wife,  Mrs.  Johnson,  was  the  hand- 
somest woman  in  Saratoga;  she  who  has  been  known 


19 


'NO,  SIR!" 


as    the   plainest  woman  and   I  the  plainest  Methodist 
minister  in  this  here  circuit — say,  did  you?" 

The  woman  was  a  fright.  I  could 
see  it  from  behind  the  sofa  where  I 
scootched  down.  She  wore  a  mob- 
cap,  had  freckles,  crooked  teeth  and 
peaked  chin. 

"  No,  sir !"  I  said,  vehemently.  "  No, 
sir-r-r !  I  never  said  your  wife  was 
the  most  beautiful  woman  in  Saratoga, 
for  she  evidently  is  not.  I  meant  some- 
body else — another  Mrs.  Johnson.  I 
could  not  tell  a  lie  about  it,  and  she  is 
positively  ugly — that  is,  she  is  not  hand- 
some; she  is  not  beautiful. 
"Far  different." 
"  Far  different !  My  wife  not 
good-looking,  sir?  My  wife  far 
different?  I'll  teach  you  to  at- 
tack my  wife  in  that  way,"  and 
then  his  cane  flew  up  and  I 
flew  down.  I  don't  know  how 
long  I  staid  there,  but  I  do  know 
that  the  next  hour  I  found  my- 
self in  a  strange  room,  and  my 
clothes  smelt  of  chloroform  and 
camphor.  The  doctors  say  I  met  with  an  accident.  I 
don't  know  what  it  was,  but  I  do  know  that  I  shall 
never  say  anything  about  that  handsomest  woman 
again.  Never ! 


I'LL  TEACH  YOU.' 


ELI  ON  FIRE-PROOF  HOUSES, 


IT  pains  me  to  hear  of  so  many  people  being  burned 
out  on  account  of  combustible  elevators  and  defective 
flues.  It's  dreadful  how  much  damage  fire  is  doing  of 
late  years  when  it  can  just  as  well  be  managed  if  only 
taken  in  hand. 

This  morning  the  superintendent  of  the  New  York 
Fire  Department  came  to  my  room  and  wanted  me  to 
explain  my  theory  of  preventing  fire. 

"All  right,  Gen.  Shaler,  be  seated,"  I  said.  Then  I 
showed  him  the  machine  invented  by  Prof.  Tyndall  and 
myself  for  abstracting  heat  from  fire. 

"  Heat  from  fire,  did  you  say,  Mr.  Perkins?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  said,  turning  a  crank.  "  This  is  the  way 
we  do  it.  Put  your  eye  on  the  spout.  Now,  do  you  see 
the  cold  flames  coming  out 'there  while  the  boys  are 
wheeling  off  the  heat  in  flour  barrels  to  cook  with?" 

"Splendid!"  exclaimed  Gen.  Shaler.  "What  other 
inventions  have  you  ?" 

"Dozens  of  them,  sir,"  I  said,  leading  the  General 
into  my  laboratory. 

Then  I  showed  the  General  my  famous  machine  for 
concentrating  water  to  be  used  by  the  engines  in  case 
of  drought.  I  showed  the  General  my  process  of  con- 
centration, which  is  to  place  the  water  in  its  dilute 
state  in  large  kettles  and  then  boil  it  down  till 'it  is 
20 


21 

thick.  The  experiment  proved  eminently  successful. 
Twelve  barrels  of  water  were  evaporated  down  to  a 
gill,  and  this  was  sealed  in  a  small  phial,  to  be  diluted 
and  used  to  put  out  fires  in  cases  of  extreme  drouth. 

"But,  Mr.  Perkins,  how " 

"Never  mind  'how'  General,"  said  I.  "You  see,  in 
some  cases  the  water  is  to  be  evaporated  and  concen- 
trated till  it  becomes  a  fine,  dry  powder,  and  this  can 
be  carried  around  in  the  vest  pockets  of  the  firemen, 
and  blown  upon  the  fire  through  tin  horns — that  is,  it 
is  to  extinguish  the  fire,  in  a  horn." 

"  But,  Mr.  Perkins, " 

"Never  mind  your  buts,  General — just  you  look  at 
the  powdered  water,"  I  said. 

Then  he  examined  the  powdered  water  with  great 
interest,  took  a  horn — a  horn  of  powdered  water — in 
his  hands  and  blew  out  four  tallow  candles  without 
the  use  of  water  at  all,  while  I  proceeded  to  elucidate 
my  plan  for  constructing  fire-proof  flues.  I  told  him 
how  the  holes  of  the  flues  should  be  constructed  of 
solid  cast  iron  or  some  other  non-combustible  material, 
and  then  cold  corrugated  iron  should  be  poured  around 
them. 

"Wonderful!"  exclaimed  the  superintendent.  "Per- 
fectly wonderful !  But  where  will  you  place  the  flues, 
Mr.  Perkins?" 

"My  idea,"  I  replied,  drawing  a  diagram  on  the 
wall-paper  with  a  piece  of  charcoal,  "is  to  have  these 
flues  in  every  instance  located  in  the  adjoining  house." 

"Magnificent!  but  how  about  the  elevators?" 

"  Why,  after    putting    'em    in    the    next    house   too, 


22 

I'd  seal  'em  up  water-tight  and  fill  'em  with  Croton, 
and  then  let  'em  freeze.  Then  I'd  turn  'em  bottom- 
side  up,  and  if  they  caught  fire,  the  flames  would  only 
draw  down  into  the  cellar/' 


DREADFUL   PROFANITY. 

A  YOUNG  lady  who  attends  Vassar  College  came 
home  to  her  mother  on  Madison  avenue  yesterday, 
and  said  that  she  didn't  like  to  go  to  school  there 
any  more,  for — for " 

"For  what,  Jenny?"  asked  her  mother. 

"Why,  because  some  of  the  Vassar  girls  swear,  Ma." 

"Swear,  Jane  I     Good  Lord,  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  they  use  bad  words,  Ma.     I " 

"Great  Heavens,  child!  run  and  tell  your  grand- 
mother to  come  here." 

[Enter  Grandmother.] 

"What  is  it,  Marion?"  asked  grandmother,  looking 
over  her  glasses. 

"  Why,  goodness  gracious,  Mother,  what  do  you  think  ? 
Why,  Jenny  says  the  girls  swear,  they " 

"  Lord  o'  mercy,  Marion  !  Heaven  knows  what  we'll 
come  to  next.  Lord  knows  we've  been  too  precious 
careful  of  our  children  to  have  'em  ruined  by  any 
such  infernal  dev'lishness." 

"I  wish  to  Heaven  —  but  here,  Jenny"  (catching 
hold  of  the  young  lady),  "  tell  me  now — what  do  those 
Vassar  girls  say?" 

"Why,  Lizzie  Mason  talks  about  Mad-dam  de  Stael, 
and  Lizzie  Smith  says  when  she  goes  to  New  York 
she'd  rather  ride  up  to  see  McComb's  dam  bridge 
than  to  have  a  front  seat  at  the  For-dam  races." 

"Good  Lord,  Jenny,  how  you  startled  me!" 


ELI  PERKINS'S  PEN  PICTURES. 

(Around  town.) 


LET  me  show  you  some  little  every-day  New  York 
pictures  this  evening.  There  are  only  four  of  them : 

I. 

"  Hundreds  of  little  Italian  boys  are  kept  by  old  hags 
on  Cherry  and  Baxter  streets,  just  to  steal  and  beg. 
If  they  come  home  at  night  without  having  stolen  or 
begged  certain  sums,  the  poor  little  fellows  are  whipped 
and  made  to  go  to  bed  on  the  floor  without  any 
supper.  Most  of  these  boys  turn  out  pick-pockets, 
and  eventually  go  to  the  Island  or  to  Sing  Sing  as 
burglars  and  housebreakers.  One  little  fellow  who  has 
lived  on  Cherry  street  for  seven  years  didn't  know 
what  the  Bible  was,  and  he  told  us  he  had  never 
heard  of  Christ."—^.  Y.  Times. 

But 

"  the  Rev.  Mr.  Van  Meter,  who  established  the  second 
Five  Points  Mission  House,  has  raised  funds  enough 
to  establish  a  Protestant  mission  church  in  Rome.  He 
writes  that  three  more  Italian  subjects  have  been  res- 
cued from  Popery  and  converted  to  the  Protestant 
faith,  and  that  he  is  deeply  solicitous  for  further  con- 

24 


25 

tributions  from  brothers  and  sisters  in  the  cause  to 
help  on  the  glorious  work  and  enable  them  to  build 
a  snug  little  marble  parsonage  for  the  residence  of 
the  American  missionaries." — Five  Points  Mission  Re- 
port. 

II. 

"  Mrs.  Mary  Thomas  testified  this  morning  that  Mrs. 
Hurley  turned  her  out  of  the  Girls'  Lodging  House 
on  a  stormy  night  to  die  in  the  Fifth  Street  Station 
House,  and  Sergeant  Snyder  swore  that  on  the  morn- 
ing of  the  1 8th  of  March  he  found  Mary  lying  sick 
on  the  floor  in  the  station  house.  She  was  in  dis- 
tress, and  said : 

"  *  For  God's  sake,  have  some  one  do  something  for 
me!'  and  in  the  midst  of  her  crying  and  mourning 
she  gave  birth  to  a  child." — N.  Y.  Herald. 

But 

"  the  private  stables  of  Mr.  Belmont,  Bonner,  and 
many  other  gentlemen  are  made  of  black  walnut, 
beautifully  furnished,  and  nicely  warmed.  The  horses 
are  clothed  in  soft,  white  blankets,  and  fed  and  cleaned 
with  the  regularity  of  clockwork.  I  am  endeavoring 
to  have  all  other  animals  well  cared  for,  too,  and  to 
accomplish  this  I  caused  the  arrest  of  a  private  coach- 
man to-day,  and  detained  the  carriage  in  front  of 
A.  T.  Stewart's,  because  the  driver  had  driven  tacks  in 
the  side  of  the  bridle,  which  pricked  and  chafed  the 
horse,  compelling  him  to  keep  his  head  straight.  If 
cars  are  overloaded  the  horses  will  be  stopped,  and  the 


'26 

people  will    have    to  walk." — Mr.  Humane  (?)  BergJis 
Letter. 


III. 

"  A  woman,  who  up  to  the  time 
of  our  going  to  press  had  not 
been  identified,  was  found  dead 
yesterday  morning  on  a  door- 
step in  Thirty  -  fourth  street. 
The  deceased  evidently  wandered 
from  some  of  the  poorer  wards 
in  search  of  employment,  and 
from  her  emaciated  condition  it 
is  probable  she  had  not  tasted  food  for  several  days. 
It  is  thought  that  poverty  and  starvation  caused  her 
death.  The  body,  scantily  clothed  in  a  few  rags, 
lies  unclaimed  in  the  Morgue." — N.  Y.  Sun. 

But 

"  Mrs.  Livingstone's  elegant  and 
fashionable  reception  and  german, 
at  her  palatial  Fifth  avenue  man- 
sion on  Monday  evening,  was  too 
gorgeous  for  description.  Many 
of  the  ladies'  toilets  came  from 
Worth's,  and  cost  fabulous  sums, 
and  the  flowers  which  draped  the 
rooms — all  rare  exotics — must  have 
cost  a  small  fortune.  Among  the  guests  sparkling 
with  jewels  was  Mrs.  Lawrence,  whose  bridal  trousseau, 
when  she  was  married  last  week,  is  said  to  have  cost 


27  » 

The  rare  and  expensive  wines  which  cheered 
the  occasion,  some  of  them  costing  as  high  as  $20 
per  bottle,  astonished  even  the  connoisseurs" — -Home 
Journal. 

IV. 

"  Bellevue  Hospital  is  often  crowded  to  excess  with 
sick,  so  much  so  that  patients  suffer  through  bad  air 
and  inattention.  ***** 

"  It  is  impossible  to  warm  the  Tombs,  or  to  keep  it 
from  being  damp,  unwholesome,  and  sickly;  and  until 
an  appropriation  of  at  least  $50,000  is  made  by  the 
city,  prisoners  must  continue  to  be  crowded  together 
and  continue  to  suffer,  especially  in  cold  weather, 
beneath  damp  bed-clothes." — Report  Commissioners  of 
Charities  and  Correction. 

But 

"the  Park  Commissioner  is  of  opinion  that  it  will 
cost  $5,000,000  to  complete  the  new  Natural  History 
buildings  in  Central  Park,  to  give  ample  room  for  the 
minerals,  fossils,  and  live  animals.  The  wild  animals 
of  the  zoological  collection  take  up  a  large  amount 
of  room  in  the  Park  buildings,  and  it  costs  the  city 
a  great  deal  of  money  to  feed  them  and  keep  them 
properly  warmed,  but  they  are  a  source  of  great 
amusement  to  the  nurses  and  children." — Park  Com- 
missioner's Report. 


A    FIFTH    AVENUE    EPISODE. 


Miss  LIVINGSTONE  was  calling  on  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Woffingtons  yesterday  afternoon.  As  she  stepped  out 
of  her  bottle-green  laudaulet  to  walk  up  the  Woffington 
brown-stone  portico,  a  swarm  of  sparrows  from  Union 
Square  chirped  and  twittered  over  her  head  and  up 
along  the  eaves.  The  sparrows  were  dodging  about 
after  flies  and  worms  —  something  substantial — while 
Miss  Livingstone's  mind  never  got  beyond  her  lace 
overskirt  and  the  artificials  on  her  Paris  hat. 

"It's  perfectly  drefful,  Edward!"  she  observed  to 
the  bell-boy  as  she  shook  out  her  skirts  in  the  hall — 
"howible!"  Then  flopping  herself  into  a  blue  satin 
chair  she  exclaimed  :  "  I  do  hate  those  noisy  spaw'ows, 
Mis.  Woffington.  They'r  beastly — perfectly  atwocious !" 

"  But  you  know  they  destroy  the  worms,  Miss  Liv- 
ingstone ;  they  kill  millions  of  'em — just  live  on  'em. 
Now,  wouldn't  you  rather  have  the  sparrows  than  the 
worms,  Miss  Livingstone  ?  Wouldn't  you  ?" 

"  No,  I  wouldn't,  Mrs.  Woffington.  Just  look  at  my 
new  brown  silk — the  nasty,  noisy  things !  I " 

"But  worms  eat  trees  and  foliage  and  fruit,  Miss 
Livingstone.  They  destroy " 

"They  don't  eat  silk  dresses,  Mrs.  Woffington,  and 
they  don't  roost  on  nine  dollar  ostrich  -feathers  and 


29 

thirty  dollar  hats,  do  they?  I'm  for  the  worms,  I  tell 
you,  and  I  don't  care  who  knows  it !  I  hate  spaw'ows!" 

"  Well,  I  hate  worms,  I  do.     I  hate— 

Jast  then  Miss  Livingstone's  brother — a  swell  mem- 
ber of  the  Knickerbocker  club  —  Eugene  Augustus 
Livingstone,  entered,  interrupting  the  sentence,  when 
both  ladies  turned  on  him  and  exclaimed : 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Livingstone,  we  were  discussing  sparrows 
and  worms,  and  we  refer  the  question  to  you.  Now 
answer,  which  had  you  rather  have  —  sparrows  or 
worms  ?" 

"Well,  weally  I  kont  say,  ladies.  Weally,  'pon  m' 
honor  I  kont,  yeu  kneuw — yeu  kneuw.  I  never 
had " 

"  But  which  do  you  think  you'd  rather  have,  Mr. 
Livingstone  ?  Which " 

"I   weally   kont    say,   ladies,    for    I    never  had    the 

spawows — at  least,  not  since  I  can  remember ;  but  the 
x^yyy.^         » 

"Oh,  Mr.  Livingstone!"  and  then  poor  Eugene  Au- 
gustus had  to  open  the  window  and  sprinkle  ice-water 
all  over  two  fainting  Worth  dresses,  which  looked  as 
if  some  careless  milliner  had  let  them  drop — a  woman 
sinker  in  each  holding  it  to  the  carpet. 


A  LONESOME    MAN. 


IN  Denver,  years  ago — when 
Denver  was  made  up  of  a  popu- 
lation of  robbers  .  and  gamblers 
and  adventurers — there  used  to 
be  a  miners'  bank — a  bank  where 
miners  deposited  bags  of  gold  ;/('!' 

.   ,      .         -  T  BANK    DEPOSITORS. 

dust,  or  sold  it  for  currency.     In 

the  bank,  before  the  teller's  window,  there  sat,  one  day, 
a  forlorn,  dejected,  woe-begone  looking  old  miner — at 
seedy  old  forty-niner.  He  wore  an  old  faded  slouch 
hat,  about  the  color  of  his  tangled,  sun-browned  beard. 
He  never  spoke  as  the  other  miners  came  in  and  ex- 
changed their  dust  for  coin,  and  no  one  spoke  to  him. 
He  was  a  personified  funeral — a  sad,  broken-hearted 
man.  As  this  sad  miner  sat  there,  one  day,  smoking 
his  pipe,  and  seemingly  oblivious  to  anything,  a  young 
man  entered  and  jauntily  handed  in  his  bag  of  dust. 

"  It  weighs  six  hundred  and  eighty  dollars,  Mr.  John- 
son," said  the  teller,  taking  it  from  the  scales. 

"All  right;  give  me  credit  on  the  books,"  said  the 
young  man,  moving  towards  the  door.  But,  turning 
on  his  heel  in  the  doorway,  he  paused  a  moment,  put 
his  hand  thoughtfully  across  his  brow,  and  said : 

"  I   beg  your  pardon,  sir ;   but  it  seems   to  me  you 

30 


31 

made  a  little  mistake  in  paying  me  last  week,  didn't 
you  ?" 

"  No,  sir,  we  never  err,  sir ;  and  if  we  did,  sir,  it's 
too  late  to  correct  it  now.  You  should  have  spoken 
about  it  at  the  time,"  replied  the  teller,  coolly. 

"  But,  sir,  I'm  positive  that  you  paid  me  ninety  dol- 
lars too  much.  Suppose  you  weigh  the  last  week's 
bag  again,"  urged  the  young  man. 

"Oh,  if  the  mistake  was  that  way,  perhaps  we  did," 
replied  the  teller,  putting  the  bag  of  gold  dust  on  the 
scales  again.  "  Godness !  I  did  make  a  mistake.  Just 
ninety  dollars  and " 

"  Here's  your  money,"  interrupted  the  young  man, 
throwing  down  the  amount  in  coin. 

"I'm  very  much  obliged,"  said  the  teller;  "for  the 
mistake  would  have  come  out  of  my  wages  when  we 
came  to  balance.  I  cannot  thank  you  too  much." 

The  only  man  watching  the  transaction  was  the  old 
slouch-hatted  miner.     He  arose,  fastened   his  eyes   on 
the   young   man,  then   came   and   watched 
him  pay  the  money  back.     Surprise  filled 
his   countenance.     His  eyes  opened  wide, 
and  his  lips  fell  apart  with  astonishment. 
Then,    looking     the     honest     young     man 
straight   in   the   face,  he   exclaimed: 

"Stranger,  don't  you    feel   mighty  lone- 

,  ,       .  ...  "I'ON'T   YOU   FEEL 

some    round   here?  LONESOME?" 


SARATOGA  SPRING  FASHIONS. 


FOR  the  benefit  of  many  young  ladies  who  remain 
away  from  Saratoga,  that  beautiful  spot  where 
"  The  weary  cease^.  from  troubling  and  the  wicked  are  at  rest," 

I  send  the  following  account  of  the  latest  watering 
place  fashions: 

"  Shoes  are  worn  high  in  the  neck,  flounced  with 
point  aquille  lace,  cut  on  the  bias.  High  heels  are 
common  in  Saratoga,  especially  in  the  hop  room.  Cot- 
ton hose,  open  at  the  top,  are  very  much  worn,  some 
of  them  having  as  many  as  three  holes  in  them.  Cot- 
ton plows  are  not  seen. 

"  Children — Are  made  very  forward  this  year,  but 
they  are  very  often  dispensed  with  entirely  for  quiet 
toilets.  They  are  too  loud.  A  neat  thing  in  babies 
can  be  made  of  drab  pongee,  gored  and  puckered  to 
match  the  panier.  Little  boys  ruffled,  fluted,  and  cut 
on  the  bias  to  match  the  underskirt  are  very  much 
worn.  Many  are  worn  all  down  to  living  skeletons  by 
such  fashionable  ladies  as  Miss  Management,  Miss 
Usage,  Miss  Behavior,  Miss  Doing,  and  Miss  Guid- 
ance. 

"Bonnets — Are  worn  high — none  less  than  $35. 
They  are  made  high  in  the  instep  and  cut  (ttcollett  in 
front,  trimmed  with  the  devilknowswhat.  Low  neck 


bonnets  with   paniers  are  no  longer  worn.     The  front 
of  the  bonnet  is  now  invariably  worn  behind. 

u  Lovers — Are  once  more  in  the  fashion.  They  are 
worn  on  the  left  side  for  afternoon  toilets,  and  directly 
in  front  for  evening  ball-room  costume.  A  nice  thing 
in  lovers  can  be  made  of  hair  (parted  in  the  middle), 
a  sickly  moustache,  bosom  pin,  cane  and  sleeve  but- 
tons, dressed  in  checked  cloth.  Giant  intellects  are  not 
fashionable  in  Saratoga  this  season.  The  broad,  mass- 
ive, thick  skull  is  generally  preferred.  The  old  lover 
trimmed  with  brains,  character,  and  intelligence  is  no 
longer  worn.. 

"  Dresses — Are  not  worn  long— none  over  two  days. 
They  are  trimmed  with  Wooster  Street  sauce,  looped  up 
with  Westchester  County  lace,  with  monogram  on  'em. 
Shake  well  and  drink  while  hot.  Inclose  twenty-five 
cents  for  circular. 

"  ELI  DE  PERKINS,  Modist. 

"  HOTEL  DES  ETATS  UNIS,  Saratoga,  August,  1875." 


ABOUT  CHILDREN. 

YESTERDAY 
Miss  Miller  said 
her  friend,  Mrs. 
Thompson,  was 
wrapped  up  in  a 
beautiful  camel's 
hair  shawl  which 
she  said  she  paid 
$2,000  f  o  r  at 
Stewart's. 

"That's  noth- 
ing at  all,"  said 
my  Uncle  Con- 
sider. " I  know 

OF  SUCH   IS  THE  KINGDOM. 

a   lady   up    in 

Litchfield  who  is  wrapped  ifp  in  a  beautiful  home-made 
baby  that  she  won't  take  $200,000  for!" 

Uncle  Consider  is  crazy  on  home-made  things. 

LITTLE    NELL. 

LITTLE  NELLIE,  whom  we  all  see  every  day  dancing 
around  the  parlors,  won  her  mother's  permission  to 
sit  up  in  the  ball-room  every  night  for  a  week,  by  prov- 
ing that  she  had  four  fathers. 

How  did  she  do  it  ?     This  was  the  way : 

34 


35 


"  Now,  ma,  I  'have  one  more  father  than  no  little 
girl,  haven't  I? 

"Yes,  pet." 

"  Well,  no  little  girl  has  three  fathers ;  and  if  I  have 
one  more  father  than  no  little  girl,  then  I  must  have 
four  fathers." 

Alas !  we've  all  got  forefathers,  but  little  Nellie  went 
a  step  farther  than  us  all  in  her  logic. 

SIMPLICITY. 

ANOTHER  little  girl  toddled 
up  to  a  venerable  "  mother  in 
Israel "  yesterday  who  was  lean- 
ing over  engaged  in  reading, 
and,  smoothing  her  little  hand 
cautiously  over  the  old  lady's 
beautiful  silver  hair,  she  said: 

"Why,  ou  has  dot  such  fun- 
ny hair — ou  has."  Then,  paus- 
ing a  moment,  she  looked  up 
and  inquired,  "  What  made  it 
so  white?" 

"  Oh,  the  frosts  of  many  win- 
ters turned  it  white,  my  little 
girl,"  replied  the  old  lady. 

"  Didn't  it  hurt  ou  ?"  asked  the  little  thing,  in  child- 
ish amazement.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  ever 
seen  gray  hair. 

CHILDREN     HALF     PRICE. 

ONE    day  I  took  a  crowd   of  children    in    Saratoga 


5 


kOU*S  DOT  FUNNY  HAIK  !" 


36 


down  to  see  Ben  the  educated  pig.     Among  them  was 
little  Johnny  Wall,  who  has  always  been  troubled  be- 

\  cause  he  had  no  little  sister  to 

* 

play  with.  When  he  asked  his 
mother  to  get  him  a  little  sister, 
she  always  put  him  off  with : 

"  Yes,  Johnny,  when  children 
get  cheap  I'll  buy  you  a  little 
sister.  You  must  wait." 

So  to-day  when  Mr.  Jarvis 
•OH,  UNTLE  ELI!"  read  these  letters  on  Educated 
Ben's  tent- 


Children  half  price — 15  cents. 


little  Johnny  jumped    straight   up   and  down,  clapped 
his  hands,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Oh,  Untie  Eli !  now  mamma  can  buy  a  itty  sister 
for  me,  for  itty  children  ain't  only  half  price  now — 
only  15  cents." 


AMBITIOUS     CHILDREN. 

WHEN  Johnny  came  back,  his  mother  showed  him  a 
picture  of  a  jackass  with  long  ears  in  a  picture-book, 
when  this  colloquy  occurred : 

"  Does  ou  see  itty  dackass,  mamma,  stan'in'  all  loney 
in  ze  picsur?"  asked  the  little  three-year  old. 

"Yes,  dear." 

"  Oh?  mamma,  Nursey  been  tellin'  Donney  all  about 


37 


ittty   dackass.      He   ha-n't   any  mamma  to   make  him 

dood,  an'  no  kind  nursey  't  all.     Poor 

itty  dackass  hasn't  dot  no  Bidzet  to 

dess  him  c'ean  an'  nice,  an'  he  hasn't 

any  overtoat  yike  Donney's  'tall.     Oo 

solly,  mamma?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  am  very  sorry.  Poor 
itty  dackass !  Dot  nobody  't  all  to 
turl  his  hair  pritty,  has*he,  Donney? 
an'  he  hasn't  dot  no  soos  or  tockies  DONNEY. 

on  his  foots.     Dot  to  yun  an'  tick  all 
day  in  'e  dirt.     Tan't  ever  be  put  to  seepy  in  his  itty 
beddy  't  all,  'an — " 

"O  mamma!"  interrupted  Johnny. 

"What,  baby?" 

"  I  wiss  I  was  a  itty  dackass." 


SERVANTGALISM. 


A  LADY  writes  that  she  has  great 
trouble  with  her  servant  girls.  She 
says  she  has  only  herself,  husband,  and 
little  girl,  but  that  it  takes  just  as  many 
servants  to  keep  house  as  if  she  had  a 
dozen  in  the  family — that  is,  she  must 
keep  a  cook,  nurse,  chambermaid,  and 
a  girl  to  dust  around  and  attend  the  door-bell.  "  Now, 
Mr.  Perkins,"  she  asks,  "how  can  I  get  two  good,  old- 
fashioned  girls,  who  will  work  together  and  run  my 
little  house?" 

I  don't  know,  my  good  lady,  unless  you  advertise. 
Suppose  you  put  this  advertisement  in  the  Herald  to- 
morrow, and  see  the  result: 

COOK  WANTED. 

A  woman  in  respectable  circumstances,  living  on  Lexington  av- 
enue, and  who  can  give  good  references  from  the  last  lady  who 
worked  for  her,  wishes  a  situation  as  mistress  over  two  young 
ladies.  The  advertiser  has  a  husband  and  one  child,  but  if  the 
child  is  an  objection,  it  will  be  sent  out  to  board.  The  ladies 
who  consent  to  enter  into  the  alliance  will  have  full  management 
of  the  house.  They  will  be  allowed  to  employ  an  inferior  person 
to  assist  them  in  doing  their  own  washing  and  ironing,  provided 
they  will  allow  the  advertiser  to  put  in  a  few  small  pieces,  such 
as  collars,  cuffs,  and  baby  clothes.  The  advertiser  will  assist  in 
the  heavy  work,  such  as  wiping  down  the  stairs,  building  fires,  and 
such  other  labor  as  may  be  considered  unbecoming  in  a  lady.  A 


39 

gentleman  of  color  will  be  in  attendance  to  wash  doer-steps,  scrub 
stairs,  clean  knives  and  dishes,  carry  water  and  run  on  errands. 
The  young  ladies  will  have  Sundays  and  Saturday  afternoons  to 
themselves,  and  can  use  the  back  parlor  for  evening  company  during 
the  week,  provided  the  advertiser  can  use  it  in  the  morning.  In 
case  the  young  ladies  desire  to  give  a  party,  the  advertiser,  after 
giving  up  the  keys  of  the  wine-cellar  and  larder,  will  spend  the 
night  at  the  hotel.  If  the  young  ladies  have  relatives,  they  can 
supply  them  with  flour,  chickens,  and  vegetables  from  the  common 
larder.  Presents  will  be  exchanged  on  Christmas,  and  the  young 
ladies  can  have  a  set  of  jewelry  or  a  point  lace  underskirt  on  Easter 
morning. 

Candidates  will  please  send  address  to  No.  —  Lexington  avenue, 
when  the  advertiser  will  call  on  them  with  her  recommendations 
and  certificates  of  good  character. 


UPPERTENDOM. 

ELI    PERKINS   ON    SHODDY    PEOPLE HE    MOURNS   BECAUSE 

HE    IS    NOT    RICH. 

LAST  night  I  made  a  fashionable  call 
on  a  fashionable  young  lady — not  one  of 
your  intellectual  young  ladies,  who  takes 
pride  in  brains  and  literature  and  travel 
and  music,  but  one  of  our  real  "  swell  " 
girls,  who  dotes  on  good  clothes  and  dia- 
monds and  laces,  and  who  bathes  daily  in  a 
bath  tub  of  Caswell  and  Hazard's  cologne; 
who  keeps  a  Spanish  poodle,  dyes  her 
hair  yellow,  wears  a  four-inch  Elizabethan 
ruffle,  and  has  her  face  powdered  with 
real  pearl  powder,  specked  with  black  court-plaster. 

My  dear  Julia  sat  under  the  mild  light  of  an  opal 
shade,  fanned  herself  with  a  twenty-inch  Japanese  fan, 
and  discoursed — oh,  so  sweetly  !  By  her  side  sat  Eugene 
Augustus  Livingstone,  of  the  Jockey  Club.  She  told 
me  everything — how  the  Browns  had  sailed  for  Paris ; 
how  the  lace  on  Mrs.  Fuller's  dress  cost  $3,000;  how 
Mrs.  Jones  had  a  new  Brewster  landaulet ;  how  Miss 
Fielding  was  flirting  with  Mr.  Munson;  how  all  the 

girls  were  going  up,  to  Thomas's  concerts,  and " 

"Is  Thomas  going  to  give  the  Ninth  Symphony?"  I 
asked. 

"Oh,  yes;  he's  going  to  give  them  all — the  ninth 
and  tenth;  and  won't  they  be  jolly?" 

40 


41 

"  Is  he  going  to  give  the  Symphony  in  D  minor  ?" 
"  Oh,  nao  !  not  in  Deminer,  Mr.  Perkins,  but  in  Cen- 
tral Park  Garden;  too  lovely,  ain't  it?" 

"I  understand,"  I  said,  "that  they  are  going  to  have 
the  'Dead  March  in  Saul.'  " 

"Why,  I  didn't  know  that  the  dead  ever  marched 
anywhere,  Mr.  Perkins  !  How  can  they  ?  Well,  I  don't 
care  how  much  the  dead  march  in  Saul  if  they  don't 
get  up  and  march  around  in  Central  Park  Garden. 

1 " 

"  How  did  you  like  the  Church  Musicals,  Mr.  Liv- 
ingstone ?"  I  asked. 

"  O,  they're  beastly— perfectly  beastly — haw- 
a-ble.  They  make  one  so  confounded  sleepy 
that  yeou  kon't  keep  awake,  yeou  kneuw — 

EUGENE  ,        tr    i    i  i        tr    i  n» 

AUGUSTUS,     dre  ful  bore — dre  ful ! 

"What  book  are  you  reading  now,  Miss 
Julia?"  I  asked,  delighted  to  be  able  to  converse  with 
a  literary  young  lady. 

"O,  I'm  running  over  one  of  Dumas's — awful  bores 
though,  ain't  they?  Dre 'ful  stupid!" 

"  Shall  you  read  Never  Again,  Miss  Julia  ?" 

"  Never  again  ?  I  should  hope  so — a  good  many 
times  again.  How  sarcastic  you  are — perfectly  atro- 
cious !" 

"Do  you  read  Once  a  Week?1' 

"Once  a  week!  Why,  I  hope  I  do,  Mr.  Perkins.  I 
hope " 

"Perhaps  you  read  Every  Saturday,  Miss  Julia?" 

"  No,  I  read  Sundays — read  novels  and  society  papers 
— all  about  balls  and  parties — ain't  they  nice?" 


42 

"  But,  speaking  of  intellectual  feasts,  Miss  Julia,  how 
do  you  like  the  genial  Lamb  ?" 

"  O,  lamb — the  tender  lamb — lamb  and  green  peas  ! 
They're  too  lovely;  and  sweetbread  and  asparagus 
and " 

"And  the  philosophical  Bacon,  on  which  the  hungry 
souls  of  England  have  fed  for  almost  a  century?" 

"Yes,  that  lovely  English  bacon!  don't  mention  it, 
Mr.  Perkins!  A  rasher  of  that  English  bacon,  with 
English  breakfast  tea,  and " 

And  so  Julia  rattled  on.  I  was  delighted.  I  wanted 
to  stay  and  talk  with  Augustus  and  Julia  forever.  I 
loved  to  sit  at  the  feet  of  wisdom  and  discourse  upon 
the  deep  philosophy  of  hair  dyes  and  pearl  powder, 
and  to  roam  with  JuKa  through  classic  shades  of  pan- 
nierdom,  and  belt  and  buckledom. 

Eugene  Augustus  now  invited  Julia  to  treat  us  with 
music — "some  lovely  gem  culled  from — from  what  the 
Dickens  is  the  opera  by — by  the  fairy-fingered  what's- 
his-name,  you  know." 

"Do,  Miss  Julia,  do  sing  us  that  divine  song  about 
the  moon — do!"  pleaded  Augustus. 

Then  Julia  flirted  up  her  panniers  behind,  coquettishly 
wiggle-waggled  to  a  Chickering  Grand,  and  sang: 

When  ther  moo-hoon  is  mi-hild-ly  be-heam-ing 

O'er  ther  ca-halm  and  si-hi-lent  se-e-e-a, 
Its  ra-dyunce  so  so-hoft-ly  stree-heam-ing, 
Oh  ther-hen,  oh  ther-hen 
I  thee-hink 
Hof  thee-hee 
I  thee-hink 
I  thee-hink 
I  thee-he-he-hehehehe-hink  hof  theeeeeeee  !  ! 


43 

"Beautiful,  Miss  Julia!  Beautiful! !"  and  we  all  clap- 
ped our  hands. 

"Do  please  sing  another  verse — it's  perfectly  divine, 
Miss  Julia,"  said  Eugene  Augustus. 

Then  Julia  raised  her  golden  (dyed)  head,  touched 
the  white  ivory  with  her  jeweled  fingers,  and  warbled : 

When  the  sur-hun  is  brigh-hi-hight-ly  glowing 

O'er  the  se-hene  so  dear-hear  to  meee, 
And  swee-heet  the  wee-hind  is  blo-ho-hoing, 
Oh  ther-hen,  oh  ther-hen 
I  thee-hink 
Hof  thee-hee, 
I  thee-hink 
I  thee-hink 

I  thee-he-he-hehehehehehe-hink  hohohohohohoho 
hoho  h-o-f  theeeeeeeeeeeeee  !!!'!! 

"Beautiful!     Just  too  lovely!!" 

As  Julia  finished  the  last  "  theeeeeeee" 
her  father,  who  grew  up  from  an  orifice 
boy  to  be  a  great  dry  goods  merchant, 
entered.  He'd  been  out  to  an  auction, 
buying  some  genuine  copies  of  works  of 

art  by  the  Old  masters.  "THEMRAFFELLS!" 

"  I  tell  ye'r  what,  says  he,  "  them  Raf- 
fells  is  good,  an'  Mikel  Angelo  he  could  paint  too — 

"Did  you  buy  an  Achenbach,  Mr.  Thompson  ?"  asked 
Augustus. 

" '  Buy  an  akin'  back  ?'  I  guess  not.  I  don't  want 
no  akin'  backs,  nor  rheumatism,  nor " 

"And  was  there  a  Verboeckoven  ?"  I  inquired. 

"  No,  sir ;   there  wa'n't  no  Verboecks  hove  in — they 


44 

ain't  a  hovin'  in  Verboecks  now.  Money  is  tight  an* 
paintin's  is  riz." 

"  Ah,  did  you  buy  any  Church's  or  Worms?" 

"  Buy  churches  and  worms !  What  the  devil  do  I 
want  to  buy  churches  and  worms  for?  I'm  .buyin' 
works  of  art,  sir.  I'm  buying " 

"Ah!  perhaps  you  bought  some  Coles,  and  may  be 
an  English  Whistler?" 

"Me  buy  coals  and  an  English  whistler!  No,  sir; 
I'm  not  a  coal  dealer.  I'm  a  dry  goods  man — A.  B. 
Thompson  &  Co.,  dry  goods,  sir,  and  I  can  do  my  own 
whistling,  and 

And  so  Mr.  Thompson  went  on ! 

But  alas!  how  could  I,  a  poor  author,  commune 
farther  with  this  learned  encyclopedia  of  beautiful  calico 
and  grand  old  cheese,  and  pure  and  immaculate  salera- 
tus,  and  sharp  and  pointed  needles? — I,  who  cannot 
dance  the  German  or  buy  a  "  spiked  "  team  ! 

Alas!  I  sigh  as  the  tears  roll  down  my  furrowed 
cheeks,  what  profit  is  it  to  know  the  old  masters — to 
commune  with  Phidias — to  chant  the  grand  old  hex- 
ameter of  the  Iliad,  when  you  cannot  buy  and  own 
them?  I  am  a  poor,  ruined  man.  I  cannot  buy — I 
cannot  build — I  cannot  decorate !  I  can  only  sit  and 
weep  in  sackcloth  and  ashes,  at  the  shrine  of  the 
beautiful  and  the  true.  ELI  DOLOROSO. 


LETTER   FROM   ANT   CHARITY. 


AUNT  CHARITY'S  letter  Trom  the  Perkins*  Farm  in 
Litchfield  county! 

I  give  it  just  as  written,  for1  I  love  my  maiden  aunt, 
who  stays  on  the  old  farm,  runs  the  Episcopal  church, 
boards  all  the  school-marms,  and  keeps  splendid  pre- 
serves and  sweetmeats  for  all  her  nephews  when  they 
visit  the  old  homestead.  E.  P. 

PERKINS'  FARM,  Litchfield  Co.,  Ct.,  May  25. 
Eli  Perkins : 

My  dear  Nevy — Yours  received.     While  your  Uncle 
Consider  was  in  Afriky  your  maden  Aunt  Ruth  and  I 
thot  wed  get  up  an  expedishun 
to  New  York  to  do  sum  Spring 
tradin'. 

We  spent  4  weeks  at  the  5th 
Heavenue. 

We  are  glad  to  get  back  to 
Litchfield  County  whare  there 
is  not  so  much  commerce  and 
good  clothes,  but  whare  intel- 
leck  is  highly  prized,  and  whare 
virtue  and  piety  shines  on  the 
forehead  of  society — so  to  speak.  We  are  glad  to  get 

45 


46 

back  whare  it  don't  take  100  yards  to  make  a  dress, 
whare  fair  women  don't  paint  their  faces,  and  whare 
dark  women  don't  ware  golden  hair. 

While  many  are  ambishus  to  worship  at  the  shrine 
of  the  godess  of  Fashion,  I  am  willin'  to  stay  away 
from  the  old  girl  forever.  I  don't  want  to  ware  white 
lips  in  the  mornin'  and  cherry-colored  lips  in  the  after- 
noon. I  don't  think  it  is  right  to  ware  strate  dresses 
with  no  busts  in  the  mornin'  and  stun  the  innocent 
men  with  full  busts  like  the  Venus  Medechy  in  the 
evenin'.  I  don't  think  it  is  Christian  for  young  fellers  to 
hold  your  hands,  and  put  their  arms  around  your  waste, 
and  hug  you  tite  in  the  evenin'  round  dances,  when  it  is 
konsidered  hily  onproper  for  a  young  lady  even  to  smile 
at  a  feller  out  of  a  third-story  winder  in  the  mornin'. 

No !  no !  !  Eli,  such  fashuns  is  not  founded  *onto 
the  gospel.  Search  the  good  book  thru  an'  you  can't 
find  a  passage  which  justifies  heels  over  two  inches  hi'. 
Examine  the  pen-ta-took  from  Generations  to  Revolu- 
tions an'  you  won't  find  enny  excuse  for  young  ladies 
bucklm'  on  automatic  umbrellas  in  place  of  swords, 
or  wearin'  $60  bonnets  made  out  of  two  straws,  a  daisy, 
an'  a  'suspender  buckle. 

You  ask  me  how  we  succeeded  in  buyin'  things. 

We  can't  say  much  for  New  York  as  a  tradin'  port. 
New  London  is  far  cheaper. 

First  we  went  to  Messur  De  Go-Bare's,  the  man 
dressmaker,  for  we  wanted  to  sho'  our  Litchfield  nabers 
the  high  fly  ingist  stiles  of  the  Empire  City. 

"  Vot  veel  I  show  ze  madame?"  asked  M.  Go-Bare, 
a-smilin'  sweetly. 


47 


"  Dresses,"  sez  I,  in  a  firm  tone — "  I  want  you  to 
make  me  four  dresses." 

"  Dresses  for  ze  morning1  or  for  ze  evening,  ma- 
dame  ?" 

"  Why,  good  dresses,  sir — dresses  for  all  day — dresses 
to  wear  from  six  o'clock  in  the  mornin'  till  nine  at 
night,"  I  replied  with  a  patrishun  air. 

"  Ough  !  zen  ze  madame  will  have  ze  polonaise,  ze 
watteau  wiz  ze  grande  panier,  and  ze  sleef  a  la  Marie 

Antoinette  and " 

"  Yes,  everything,"  sez  I,  carelessly ;  "  and  now,  my 
good  man,  how  many  yards  will  it  take?" 

"  We,  madame,  it  will  take  for  ze  grande  dress  176 
(what  you  dam  call  him  ?)  yards.  Oh !  I  veel  make 

ze  madame  one  habit  magnifique,  one " 

"What,  176  yards  for  one  dress!"  I  exclaimed, 
holdin'  my  breath. 

"Wey  we"  explained  the  man-tailor,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "Zat  is  wiz  ze  polonaise,  ze 
watteau,  ze  panier,  ze  flounce,  cut  in 

ze  Vandykes " 

Good  heavens,  man  !  must  I  have 
all  these  things  ? — and  what  will  they 
all  cost?"  I  exclaimed,  tryin'  to  con- 
ceal my  emoshun. 

"  Ough  !  a  veere  little,  Madame — 
only  seventeen-fifty  wiz  all  ze  rare 
lace  on  ze  flounces,  and " 


ANT  RUTH. 


"Gracious,  Charity,  that  is  cheap," 
sez  Ant  Ruth,  takin'  off  her  glasses  and  a-lookin'  at 
the  patterns.  "  SEVENTEEN-F-I-F-T-Y  !  Why,  Charity, 


48 

I  shud  a  thot  that  $65  was  a  small  figer  for  all  these 
fixins." 

"Can't  you  put  on  somethin'  more,  my  good  man?" 
sez  I.  "  The  Perkinses  is  able,  and  we  are  willin'  to 
go  to  thirty  or  forty." 

"Yees,  madame,  I  can  put  ze  Jabot  of  ve-ree  fine 
lace  in  ze  neck — un,  trois,  dix  plaits." 

"All  right;  what  else?"  sez  I,  whirlin'  my  pocket- 
book  carelessly. 

"We  can  catch  up  ze  skirt  and  ze  flounces  with 
bows " 

"S — sh !  man,  do  you  think  I'll  have  beaux  catchin' 
up  my  flounces?  Shame!  insultin,  base  man!"  I  ex- 
claimed, as  I  felt  the  skarlet  tinge  of  madenhood  play 
upon  my  alabaster  cheek. 

"  No,  sir,  we  want  no  beaux  catchin'  up  our  flounces," 
sez  Ant  Ruth;  "we " 

"  Pardon,  madame ;  I  mean  ze  bows  will  hold  up  ze 
flounces,  ze  bows " 

"  No,  tha  won't,  insultin'  Frenchman  !  Do  you  know 
you  address  a  Perkins?"  and  Ant  Ruth  and  I  turned 
a  witherin'  look  at  the  monster  and  walked,  blushin', 
to  the  door. 

"Nine — nine!"  exclaimed  a  young  German  woman 
from  Europe,  wildly  ketchin'  hold  of  our  clothes. 
"  You  nix  fustand  putty  goot  Mister  Go-Bare.  He  no 
means  vot  you  dinks.  You  coomes  pack  again  and 
de  shintlemans  explains  vot  you  no  understand. 
Coome  !" 

We  re-entered  the  abode  of  fashun  again. 

"  What  else  can  you  put  on  to  add  to  the  expense 


49 

of  this  dress  ?"  sez  I,  in  a  soothing  tone.  "  Seventeen- 
fifty  is  too  cheap  for  me.  I'm  willing  to  go  to  twenty- 
five." 

"  Oh,  we,  madame,  ze  round  point  on  ze  flounces — 
he  comes  very  high — zat  will  make  ze  dress  twent- 
two." 

"Nothing  else?  But  do  stop  talkin'  about  high 
flounces!"  sez  aunt  Ruth,  the  color  returning  to  her 
cheeks  again. 

"  We,  Madame.  You  can  have  ze  side  plaits,  ze 
kelting,  ze  gores,  ze  grande  court  train,  ze  petite  gos- 
set  on  ze  elbow,  ze  bias  seam  up  ze  back,  and — " 

"  Heavens,  man,  have  mercy  on  us !  Still  more  you 
say?"  exclaimed  Aunt  Ruth. 

"  We,  veree  much  more.  You  can  have  ze  rar-ee 
flowers  a  la  Nilsson,  an'  ze  point  aguille  vill  make  ze 
dress  of  one  grande  high  price — grande  enough  for  ze 
Grande  Duchesse" 

"Wall,  how  high  will  the  price  be  then,  my  good 
man  ?"  sez  Aunt  Ruth. 

"  Vingt-six — tweenty-sex,  madame.  Ce  tiest  pas  trh 
cher,  madame?" 

"  O !  no,  my  good  man,  twenty-six  is  cheap  enough. 
It  beats  New  London  tradin'  to  death.  Now  give  us 
the  change,"  sez  Aunt  Ruth,  handin'  him  a  $50  bill 
on  the  New  London  First  National. 

"  Mon  dieu,  madame !  Zis  is  not  change  enuff.  Zis 
is  nothing.  Zis  grande  dress  cost  ten — fifty  times 
more!" 

"Gracious!  man,  didn't  you  say  twenty-six?"  in- 
quired Aunt  Ruth. 


50 

"Oh,  we — we — we — madame,  but  he  cost  twenty-six 
hundred — $2600 !" 


Eli,  I've  got  thru  tradin'  in  New  York.  Why,  our 
whole  crop  of  hay,  corn,  and  maple  sugar  wudent  bi 
over  two  such  dresses.  Don't  talk  to  me  any  more 
about  sity  fashuns !  Litchfield  County  will  do  for  me, 
and  my  old  bombazine,  with  a  new  polonaise,  will  do 
for  our  church  for  many  years  to  come.  It's  good 
enuff. 

Yours  affeckshunate, 

CHARITY   PERKINS. 


THE  LITERARY  GIRL. 

THE  Boston  young  lady  has  arrived 
in  New  York.  I  mean  the  real  literary 
young  lady — the  Siege  of  Troy  girl. 
She  grew  up  in  Boston  and  graduated 
at  Vassar  College  last  year.  She  weais 
eye  glasses,  and  is  full  of  wisdom. 
She  scans  Homer,  rattles  the  verb  MISS  ADAMS 
"lipo"  like  the  multiplication  tables, 
sings  Anacreon  to  the  old  Greek  melodies,  and  puts  up 
her  hair  after  the  Venus  of  Milo.  There  is  no  end  to 
her  knowledge  of  the  classical  dictionary,  and  when  it 
comes  to  Charles  Lamb  or  Sidney  Smith — who  never 
wrote  much,  but  got  the  credit  of  every  good  joke  in 
England — she  can  say  their  jokes  as  a  Catholic  says 
his  beads.  If  you  ask  her  how  she  likes  babies,  she 
answers : 

"'How?'  Well,  as  Charles  Lamb  remarked,  'I  like 
'em  b—b— boiled.'  " 

Ask  her  anything,  and  she  will  always  lug  in  a 
quotation  from  some  pedantic  old  fool  like  Dr.  John- 
son or  Swift  or  Jack  Bunsby,  just  to  show  you  that 
she  is  up  in  literature,  and  that  you  are — green. 
Not  a  single  original  idea,  but  one  constant  "  as 
Socrates  said,"  or  "as  Pluto  remarked,"  or  "as  Diog- 
enes observed." 

Yesterday   one   of    our    absurd    and    ignorant    New 

51 


52 

York  young  ladies  got  hold  of  the  pedantic  business, 
and  suggests  this  wretched  paraphrase  on  Miss  Boston's 
language: 

'  Do  you  love  music,  Miss  Julia  ?"  asked  Jack  Astor. 

'  Well,  '  yes,'  as  the  poet  observed." 

'  How  many  times  have  you  been  engaged  since  Christmas  ?" 

"Six/  as  Mr.  Daball  pathetically  remarked  in  his  arithmetic." 

'Do  you  dance  the  round  dances?"  continued  Mr.  Astor. 

' '  No,'  "  said  Julia,  and  then  she  remarked,  "  as  the  Lord  Mayor 
of  London  quietly  observed  as  John  Ruskin  asked  him  for  the  loan 
of  four  dollars." 

The  Boston  girl  is  so  well  posted  that  she  wins 
triumphs  over  you  by  a  sort  of  literary  "  bluff "  game. 
She  attributes  sharp  quotations  to  distinguished  men, 
and,  conscious  that  you  dare  not  question  their  au- 
thenticity, of  course  she  "bluffs"  you  right  down. 
When  you  go  to  your  home  and  read  up,  and  find 
she  has  really  "  bluffed "  you,  of  course  you  are  too 
genteel  to  mention  it,  and  so  this  Boston  girl  goes  on 
pluming  herself  at  the  expense  of  New  York  gallantry. 

Yesterday  the  Boston  girl  was  at  it  again.  Some- 
body asked  her  who  was  the  oldest,  Methuselah  or 
Deuteronomy  ? 

"  Why,  Barnes,  the  commentator,  says  '  Deuteronomy 
came  before  Numbers  ' — and  of  course  he's  too  old 
to  be  computed." 

Now,  I  knew  she  lied,  but  still  I  had  a  doubt 
about  it.  I  didn't  want  to  break  out  and  say  Deu- 
teronomy came  after  Numbers,  and  then  have  those 
miserable  Boston  fellows  say,  with  that  terrible  up- 
ward inflection,  "How  are  you,  Eli  Perkins?"  O! 
no.  But  when  I  got  home  I  sent  over  to  a  gen- 
tleman on  Fifth  Avenue,  who  I  understood  had  a 


53 

Bible  to  lend,  and  got  the  Pentateuch — and,  sure 
enough,  just  my  luck,  that  miserable,  pedantic,  specta- 
cled Boston  girl  was  right.  The  fact  is,  they  are  always 
right,  and  that  is  what  produces  so  much  profanity  in 
New  York.  Then  how  they  can  show  off  their  Bibli- 
cal knowledge  and  bug-and-spiderology ! 

The  other  night  Miss  Boston  took  off  her  eye-glasses 
and  asked  me  three  square  catechism  questions  which 
displayed  a  Biblical  knowledge  that  made  my  head 
swim. 

"Who  is  the  shortest  man  mentioned  in  the  Bible, 
Mr.  Perkins?"  she  commenced. 

"The  shortest  man?"  said  I.  "Why,  I  know.  It 
was  Nehemiah  or  Mr.  What's-his-name,  the  Shuhite.  It 
was " 

"  No,  sir,  it  was  Peter,"  interrupted  the  Boston  girl. 
"  He  carried  neither  gold  nor  silver  in"  his  purse. 

"Who  was  the  straightest  man?" 

"Was  it  Joseph,"  I  asked,  "when  he  didn't  fool 
with  Mrs.  Potiphar  ?" 

"No,  it  was  Joseph,  afterwards,  when  they  made  a 
ruler  of  him. 

"  But,  now,  tell  me,  Eli,  what  man  in  the  Bible  felt 
the  worst?" 

"Was  it  Job,  Miss    Boston?" 

"No,  sir;  it  was  Jonah.  He  was  down  in  the 
mouth  for  days." 

It  was  this  same  Boston  girl  who  years  ago  said 
Cain  never  could  sit  down  on  a  chair,"  and  when 
they  asked  her  "Why?"  she  said:  "Why,  because  he 
wasn't  Abel." 


54 

Then  one  of  our  wicked  New  York  fellows  got 
mad,  and  asked  Miss  Adams,  "Why  is  it  impossible 
to  stop  the  Connecticut  River?" 

"Is  it  owing  to  the  extreme  heat  and  density  of 
the  atmosphere?"  asked  Miss  Adams. 

"  No,  but  because — why,  b-e-c-a-u-s-e — dam  it  you 
can't ! 

"  And  speaking  of  rivers,  Miss  Adams,  do  you  know 
why  there  will  never  be  any  chance  for  the  wicked 
to  skate  in  the  next  world?" 

"Because  the   water  will  be  too  warm  and  thin?" 

"  No  ;  but  because  how  in  H — H — Harlem  can 
they?" 

If  you  sit  down  by  this  Boston  girl  and  don't 
behave  like  a  minister,  she  don't  get  mad  and  pout. 
O !  no.  She  says,  "  Mr.  Perkins,  shall  I  repeat  you  a 
few  lines  from  Saxe?"  and  then  she  goes  on — 

Why  can't  you  be  sensible,  Eli ! 

I  don't  like  men's  arms  on  my  chair. 
Be  still !  if  you  don't  stop  this  nonsense, 

I'll  get  up  and  leave  you—  so  there  ! 

And  when  you  take  out  a  solitaire  ring,  or  try  "to 
seal  the  vow,"  or  something  of  that  sort,  as  New 
York  fellows  always  try  to  do  with  almost  every 
Boston  girl  who  comes  here,  she  looks  up  blushingly, 
and,  in  the  lauguage  of  Swinburne,  poetically  remarks : 

There  !  somebody's  coming — don't  look  so — 

Get  up  on  your  own  chair  again — 
Can't  you  seem  as  if  nothing  had  happened  ? 

I  ne'er    saw  such  geese  as  you  men  ! 


UNCLE  CONSIDER  AS  A  CRUSADER. 

HOW    HE    JOINED    THE    LADIES. 


THIS  morning  Uncle 
Consider  returned  from 
the  temperance  crusade  in 
the  West. 

"What    have    you  been 
doing,  Uncle  ?"  I  asked  as 
the  old  man  sat  polishing 
his   German    silver   glasses 
with  his  red  bandana  handkerchief. 
"  I've     been    crusadin'    with    the 
temp'rance  wimmen,  Eli — been  'stab- 
llishing    temp'rance    bar-rooms     for 
religious  people,  and — " 

"Where  — a— bouts,    Uncle?"    I 
interrupted. 

"Why,  over  in  Springfield,  where 
Abe  Linkum's  monument  is.      Thar 
these   wimmen    war    a    processin' 
around  in  a  great  crowd.     As  they 
kum  by  the  depo'  I  asked  one  of  the  pretty  gals  whar 
the  soin'  society  waz.     '  Whear  you  all  crusadin'  to  ?' 
sez  I. 

"  *  Crusadin'  to  !'  sez  she,  '  Why,  we  ain't  a  crusadin' 
anywhere;    we    are   a   visitin'  saloons  —  licker-saloons. 

55 


"  I'M  JES    READY  TO 

CRUISE  AROUND  WITH 
PRETTY,  GALLUS- 
LOOKIN'  GIRLS." 


56 

We  are   organized    to   put   down   whiskey.     Won't  you 
jine  in,  old  man?' 

"  I  told  'er  I  wud.  Sez  I,  '  Young  woman,  that's  me 
zackly.  I'm  jes  reddy  to  cruise  'round  with  pretty, 
gallus-lookin'  gals  any  time,  and,  as  fur  visitin'  saloons, 
I'm  jes  t'ome  thar,  too  I've  visited  a  dog-on  many 
saloons  in  my  day,  and,  when  it  comes  to.  puttin'  down 
whiskey,  young  woman,'  sez  I,  '  I  s'pose  I  kin  put  down 
more  whiskey,  an'  hard  cider,  an'  Jamaky  rum 
than ' 

"  *  No,  no,   old   man !    we  want    you  to  pray  in  the 

saloons — pray  for  the  rumsellers  and ' 

"All  right,'  sez  I,  '  that's  me  agin.  I've  preyed 
'round  all  the  rumsellers  and  into  all  the  saloons  in 
New  York,  from  Harry  Hill's  to  Jerry  Thomas's,  for 
years,  and  it's  jes  nothin'  but  boy's  play  to  prey  'round 
these  little  country  saloons.' 

:  *  But  who's  to  furnish  the  money,  young  woman?' 
sez  I. 

"Money,  old  man?  Why,  this  is  a  labor  of  love,' 
sez  she,  a  col'ring  up — *a  priceless  priv'lege — "without 
money  and  without  price,"  an' ' 

"'All  right,'  sez  I.  '  I'm  jes  suited  now.  Preyin' 
'round  saloons  and  puttin'  down  whiskey  "  without 
money  and  without  price "  jes  suits  me.  Z-a-c-k-1-y 
so  !  Put  me  down  a  life-member.' 

"'And  you  say  it's  all  free  and  don't  cost  a  cent, 
young  woman  ?"  sez  I,  hesitatin'  like. 

'  *  No,  sir,  old  man.  Virtue  is  its  only  reward.  Go 
and  crusade,  and  humanity  will  thank  you  for  doin'  it 
— posterity  will  heap  benedictions  upon  you — the  great 


57 

reformers  for  centuries  to  come  will  rize  up  and  call 
you  blessed  and ' 

"  *  Nuf  sed,  young  woman,'  sez  I,  and  then  I  jes 
handed  my  perlice  to  the  stage-man  and  jined  in.  I 
preyed  'round  96  rumsellers  and  into  180  saloons — 
puttin'  down  whiskey  and  beer  and  rum  an'  merlasses 
in  ev'ry  one,  till  I  lost  all  'count  of  myself  or  anybody 
else  until  the  station-house  keeper  told  me  about  it 
the  next  mornin'. 

"An'  now,  Eli,"  said  Uncle  Consider,  looking  over 
his  glasses  very  mournfully,  "  if  them  thar  crusadin' 
wimmen  kum  'round  you  to  get  you  to  help  them  prey 
'round  saloons  and  'stablish  temp 'ranee  bar-rooms,  you 
jes  don't  go.  Now,  you  mind  me.  Don't  you  go 
'round  singin' 

"  '  On  Jordan's  stormy  bank  I  stand,' 

but  you   jes  stay  at  home  and  sing  '  I  want  to  be  an 
angel J  with  Ginral  Butler  an'  Zack  Chanler  an'  me." 


ELI   IN   LOVE. 

A    TAIL    OF     LOVE,    FLIRTING    AND    DESPAIR. 
(In  Four  Chapters?) 


CHAP.   I. 

"  ELI  !" 

"  Yes,  Julia,"  I  said 
as  I  helped  my  sweet- 
heart dress  the  room 
for  her  Christmas  par- 
ty. 

"Well,  Eli,  I  was 
going  to  say  that  I 
could  live  in  a  garret 
with  the  man  I  loved 
if " 

"If   what,    Julia?"    I    said,    handing 
her  up  another  sprig  of  cedar. 
„   "Why,  if  it  had  a  nice  Otis  elevator  and 
I  could   have   my  meals   sent  in   from   Del- 
monico's  and 


CHAP.  II. 

"Julia!"  I  said,  interrupting  her  two  weeks 
after  the  conversation  narrated  in  the  previous 
chapter,  "  I  have  something  confidential  to  tell 
you." 

"What  is  it,  Eli?"  she  asked  in  a  low  sil- 

68 


59 

very  voice — a  kind  of  German-silvery  voice — throwing 
her  beautiful  eyes  upon  me. 

"Well,  Julia,"  I  sighed,  "I  think— I  think,  dearest, 
that  I  love  you.  Now  do  you  love  me?  Do  you?" 

"Yes,  Eli,  I  do  love  you — you  know  I  do,"  and  then 
she  got  down  off  the  chair  and  flung  her  alabaster 
arms  around  my  neck. 

'     "I'm  very 'glad,  Julia,"  I  said,  "for  I  1-i-k-e  to  be 
loved." 

"Well,  Eli!" 

But  I  never  said  another  word. 


CHAP.  III. 
Time  passed  on. 

Six  weeks  afterwards  my  beloved  grasped  my  hand 
convulsively,  looked  in  my  face  and  said : 

"  Eli,  such  devoted,  warm-hearted  men  as  you  often 
make  me  feel  very  happy." 

"How,  darling?"  I  asked,  too  happy  to  live. 

"Why,  by  keeping  away  from  me,  Eli!" 

CHAP.  IV. 

"Why,  O  why  is  this,  my  beloved?"  I  sobbed,  one 
bright  spring  morning  five  years  afterwards. 

"  Because,  my  darling, — father  and  mother  told  me 
that  when  you  called  they  wanted  me  to  propose " 

"  O  Julia,  darling,  I  am  thine.  Take,  O  take,  your 
Eli!  Never  mind  father — never " 

"  But  no,  Eli,  they  wanted  me  to  see  you  and  pro- 
pose— p-r-o-p-o-s-e  that  you  don't  come  here  any  more !" 

Base  flirt— I  left  her— O  I  left  her!! 

FINIS. 


BROWN'S  BOYS. 


A  BROWN  S   BOY. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE    TRIBE    IN    GENERAL. 

THE  Brown's  Boy  is  pecu- 
liar to  New  York>  though 
every  large  city  is  infested 
with  Brown's  Boys  in  a  great- 
er or  less  degree.  They  were 
named  after  Sexton  Brown  of 
Grace  Church.  They  are  his 
boys.  He  keeps  them — this 
dilettante  Grace  Church  sex- 
ton does — to  run  swell  parties 
with.  He  furnishes  them  with 
invitations  to  weddings  and 

parties  and  receptions.  In  fact,  Brown  contracts  to 
furnish  Brown's  Boys  to  dance  and  flirt,  and  amuse 
young  ladies  at  parties,  just  as  he  contracts  to  furnish 
flowers  and  ushers  and  pall-bearers  at  a  funeral.  How 
can  Mrs.  Witherington's  party  go  off  well  without  a 
Brown's  Boy  to  lead  the  German?  They  don't  have 
anything  in  particular  to  do,  Brown's  Boys  don't,  and 
it  takes  them  all  the  time  to  do  it.  They  don't  have 
much  money,  but  they  make  believe  they  have  immense 
incomes.  They  are  looking  out  for  rich  wives.  They 
live  in  cheap  rooms,  on  side-streets,  and  swell  in  Fifth 
Avenue  parlors.  Ask  them  what  they  do  for  a  living, 
and  they  will  say, — . 


61 

"O,  aw — I  opewate  a  little  in  stawks  now  and  then 
on  Wall  street,  yeu  know." 

If  you  go  down  to  Wall  street  you  will  never  see  cr 
hear  of  them. 

In  New  York  they  live  on  the  Egyptian  plan— that 
is,  they  rent  a  hall  bedroom  and  eat  when  they  are 
invited;  but  in  Saratoga  they  swell  around  in  amber 
kids  and  white  neckties,  and  spend  their  time  in 
dancing  the  German  and  in  noble  endeavors  to  win 
the  affections  of  some  rich  young  lady.  Their  whole 
theory  of  a  noble  life  is  to  marry  a  rich  girl  and  board 
with  her  mother — and  not  be  bored  by  her  mother. 

These  Brown's  Boys  are  always  very  religious — from 
12  to  i  on  Sundays.  At  that  hour  you  will  see  them 
always  religiously — returning  from  church.  You  will 
always  see  them  just  coming  from  or  going  to  church ; 
but  I  have  consulted  the  "oldest  inhabitant,"  who 
says  that  up  to  this  time,  they  have  never  been  visible 
to  the  naked  eye  while  engaged  in  an  active  state  of 
worship. 

Brown's  Boys  are  good  managers.  They  all  have 
nice  dress  suits,  and  wear  immaculate  kids.  They 
dance  all  the  round  dances,  and,  at  supper,  "corner" 
enough  champagne  behind  ladies'  dresses  to  last  all 
the  evening — even  after  the  champagne  is  all  out,  and 
other  people  are  reduced  to  lemonade  and  punch. 
They  never  take  any  one  to  a  party.  They  come  late 
and  alone,  but  they  go  for  the  prettiest  girl  immedi- 
ately on  their  arrival,  and  run  her  regular  escort  out. 
They  don't  call  that  "cheek" — they  call  it  society 
diplomacy. 


62 

The  theater  and  opera  are  the  favorite  resort  of 
Browr>'s  Boys.  They  go  alone,  in  swell  Ulster  over- 
coats, crush  Dunlop  hats,  and  elaborate  opera  glasses. 
Here  they  stand  around  the  doors  and  aisles,  and 
during  the  acts  visit  rich  young  ladies  in  their  twenty- 
six-dollar  boxes. 

CHAPTER  II. 
BROWN'S  BOYS  AT  PARTIES. 

BROWN'S  BOYS  are  the  dancing  men  at  fashionable 
parties.  They  do  not  talk — they  have  no  ideas — but 
they  do  dance  the  German  divinely. 

They  generally  accompany  some  member  of  the 
hereditary  train  of  uncertain-aged  dancing  young  ladies, 
who  attend  five  parties  a  week,  from  December  to  Lent. 

These  dancing  girls  are  generally  prettily  and  often 
richly  dressed,  and  are  the  daughters  of  rich  parents, 
while  the  dancing  fellows  are  generally  poor.  They 
are  pensioners  on  the  young  ladies,  for,  when  the  young 
ladies  forget  to  send  a  carriage  for  them,  they  invari- 
ably excuse  themselves  on  the  ground  of  a  previous 
engagement,  or  smuggle  themselves  in  alone.  Still,  they 
are  good-looking,  generally  contrive  to  wear  nice-fitting 
dress  suits,  faultless  kids,  and  crush  hats.  They  de- 
pend upon  "the  governor,"  generally,  for  cigars.  They 
look  upon  the  party  as  a  place  to  flatter  the  girls,  get 
a  free  lunch,  smoke  good  cigars,  and  "corner"  cham- 
pagne. 

A  Brown's  Boy's  strong  point,  as  with  Achilles,  lies 
in  his  heels.  Though,  without  any  apparent  brain,  they 


63 

chatter  cleverly  and  seem  exceedingly  smart  in  com- 
monplaces. They  know,  from  force  of  habit,  just  what 
to  say,  and  just  what  to  do.  If  they  step  on  a  lady's 
dress,  they  say  instantly, 

"Beg  pardon,  Miss  Smi!h.  I  thought  the  train  had 
passed!" 

"Ha!  ha!  Charley,  you  must  learn  to  wait  for  the 
train,"  Miss  Smith  remarks  as  Charley  peeps  over  the 
banisters  to  smell  the  incipient  breath  of — supper. 

BROWN'S  BOYS  AT  SUPPER. 

THE  dancing  men — the  professional  champagne  "  cor- 
nerers  " — are  never  late  to  supper.  Here  their  discrim- 
inating genius  makes  a  prodigious  display. 

They  never  go  for  cheap  refreshments,  but  have  a 
weakness  for  fried  oysters,  salads,  and  expensive  wood- 
cock. They  take  to  expensive  game  wonderfully,  and 
they  manage  to  have  it  while  the  non-professional 
party-goer  is  picking  away  at  plain  sandwiches,  cold 
tongue,  mottoes,  and  cream.  A  knowledge  of  Greek 
and  Latin  don't  help  a  man  in  the  giand  raffle  for 
woodcock  at  a  New  York  party,  for  Brown's  Boys  are 
sure  to  win  by  tact  and  society  diplomacy. 

CORNERING    CHAMPAGNE.  „ 

WHEN  the  wine  comes  on,  then  the  •professional  man 
of  heels  is  in  his  element.  He  turns  a  sweet  patron- 
izing smile  upon  the  caterer,  and  says, 

"John,  no  cider  champagne  for  us,  yeu  kneuw." 
John  smiles  and  hands  him  the  first   bottle  of  fine 
old  Roederer.     This  he  generally  drinks  with  the  fel- 
lows, while  the  ladies  are  eating  in  the  corner. 


64 

Now  he  approaches  the  caterer  and  says  with  a  pa- 
tronizing wink: 

"John,  some  more  of  our  kind,  yeu  kneuw,"  and 
John  hands  out  two  bottles  more — one  to  be  drunk 
with  the  ladies,  and  the  ottTer  Charley  "corners"  with 
a  laugh,  behind  their  dresses.  The  girls  think  this  is 
very  funny,  and  they  laugh  at  Charley's  coup  in  high 
glee. 

Thisjis  a  nice  provision  on  the  part  of  the  champagne 
"cornerer,"  for  soon  "the  governor's"  best  .champagne 
gives  out.  Then  while  the  unprofessionals,  having  ex- 
hausted everything  from  cider  champagne,  through 
sparkling  Catawba,  to  Set  Sherry,  are  all  sipping  away 
at  rum  punch,  Charley  is  reveling  in  Widow  Clicquot's 
best.  All  the  girls  are  laughing,  too,  and  Charley  is 
voted  "a  deuced  smart  fellow." 

Now  he  is  up  to  the  prettiest  tricks,  even  to  taking 
a  young  lady's  hand,  or  even  her  mother's.  They  all 
say,  "  It's  all  right — Charley  has  been  '  cornering'  a  little 
too  much  champagne — that's  all.  Ha!  ha!" 

EXPENSIVE    CHARLEY. 

LET'S  see  what  Charley  has  cost  Nellie  Smith's  gov- 
ernor to-night. 

Carriage  (which-  Nellie  Smith  sent) $5  oo 

Two  woodcock  (totally  eaten  up)     .     .     .           .     .  i  50 

Salad  and  oysters  (destroyed) .100 

Cigars  (smoked  and  pocketed) T  oo 

Champagne 12  oo 

Total  for  Charley $20  50 

CR.     By  face  and  heels  lent  to  Nellie  for  occasion     $20  50 

Balance ,  ,     ooo  oo 


65 

A  KIND  old  father-in-law  on  Madison  avenue,  who 
is  supporting  four  or  five  of  Brown's  Boys  as  sons-in- 
law,  went  down  to  -see  Barnum's  Feejee  Cannibals. 

"Why  are  they  called  Cannibals?"  he  asked  of  Mr. 
Barnum. 

"  Because  they  live  off  of  other  people,"  replied  the 
great  showman. 

"  O,  I  see,"  replied  the  unhappy  father-in-law.  "Alas ! 
my  four  Brown's  Boys  sons-in-law  are  Cannibals,  too — 
they  live  off  of  me!" 


A  BROWN'S  BOY  IN  LOVE. 


I  KNOW  a  Brown's  Boy — Charley 
Munson — whose  pet  theory  has  always 
been  to  marry  a. rich  orphan  girl  with 
a  hard  cough — with  the  consumption. 

One  day  he  came  into  my  room 
almost  heartbroken. 

CHARLEY  MUNSON.  «   My     pefc      ^^^     fe      exploded,"     hC 

said.  "I  am  discouraged.  I  want  to  die."  Then  the 
tears  rolled  down  his  cheek. 

"What  is  it,  Charley?  O,  what  has  happened?"  I 
asked. 

"Ohoooo,  Eli!"  he  sobbed,  and  then  he  broke  down. 

"But  what  is  it,  Charley?  Confide  in  me,"  I  said, 
my  heart  almost  breaking  in  sympathy  at  his  bereave- 
ment. 

"Well,  my  friend,  my  dear  friend,  I  will  tell  you  all 
about  it." 

Then  he  leaned  forward,  took  my  hand  tremblingly 
in  his,  and  told  me  his  sad,  sad  story. 

"The  other  day,  Eli,"  he  said,  "I  met  a  very  rich 
young  lady — the  rich  Miss  Astor  from  Fifth  avenue. 
She  was  very  wealthy — wore  laces  and  diamonds — but, 
alas!  she  didn't  have  any  cough  to  go  with  them. 
She  had  piles  of  money,  but  no  sign  of  a  cough — no 
quick  consumption — just  my  luck!" 


67 

Then   he   buried    his    face   in    his   hands.     He  wept 
long  and  loud. 


"What  else,  Charley?"  I  asked,  after  he  had  re- 
turned to  consciousness. 

"Well,  yesterday,  Eli,  I  met  a  beautiful  young  lady 
from  Chicago.  She  was  frail  and  delicate  —  had  just  the 
cough  I  wanted  —  a  low,  hacking,  musical  cough.  It 
was  just  sweet  music  to.  listen  to  that  cough.  I  took 
her  jeweled  hand  in  mine  and  asked  her  to  be  my 
bride  ;  but  alas  !  in  a  fatal  moment  I  learned  that  she 
hadn't  any  money  to  go  with  her  cough,  and  i  had  to 
give  her  up.  I  lost  her.  O,  I  lost  her!" 

And  then  the  hot  scalding  tears  trickled  through  his 
fingers  and  rolled  down  on  his  patent  leather  boots. 


BROWN'S  BOYS  IN  NEW  YORK. 


THE    TIRING-OUT    DODGE. 

THEY  don't  have  any  money  themselv.es,  -Brown's 
Boys  don't,  and  consequently  they  are  looking  for  rich 
wives.  They  are  handsome  fellows,  and  always  man- 
age to  keep  all  the  pretty  girls  "on  a  string,"  but  they 
never  propose.  They  never  come  right  out  like  us 
honest  fellows,  and  ask  a  young  lady  plump  to  marry 
them.  They  are  dog-in-the-manger  lovers. 

Of  late,  when  I  call  on  Julia,  I  am  always  sure  to 
find  a  Brown's  Boy  at  the  house.  He  sits  in  danger- 
ous proximity  to  the  girl  I  love,  talks  very  sweetly, 
and,  I  think,  tries  to  run  me  out. 

Of  course,  when  you  make  an  evening  call  on  a 
young  lady,  the  first  visitor  is  entitled  to  the  floor,  and 
after  saying  a  few  pretty  things,  you  are  expected  to 
place  caller  number  one  under  everlasting  obligations 
to  you  by  putting  on  your  overcoat  and  leaving.  Now, 
Brown's  Boy,  unlike  Mr.  Lamb,  always  comes  early  and 
goes  late,  and  I've  put  him  under  obligations  to  me 
so  many  times  that  'I'm  getting  sick  of  it.  He  can 
never  live  long  enough  to  pay  this  debt  of  gratitude. 
Oh,  how  I  hate  that  Brown's  Boy ! 

Last  night  I  had  my  sweet  revenge. 

I  had  been  telling  my  sad  tale  of  sorrow  and  disap- 
pointment to  Sallie  Smith.  I  told  her  I  "meant  busi— 


69 

ness  "  all  the  time  with  Julia,  and  that  I  knew  Brown's 
Boy  was  flirting. 

"Now,  Miss  Sallie,  confidentially,  what  shall  I  do?" 
I  asked. 

"Well,  cousin  Eli,  I'll  tell  you  just  what  to  do,"  said 
Sallie,  her  eyes  sparkling  with  interest. 

"What,  Sallie?" 

"Why,  the  next  time  you  call  on  Julia  you  must 
come  the  '  tiring-out  dodge,'  "  she  replied,  looking  me 
earnestly  in  the  face,  and  quietly  picking  a  tea-rose 
out  of  my  Prince  Albert  lappel. 

"What  dodge  is  that,  Sallie?" 

"  It's  just  like  this,  .Eli.  You  must  call  on  Julia  as 
usual— " 

"Yes." 

"And  if  a  Brown's  Boy  is  there,  you  musn't  be  the 
least  bit  jealous " 

"No." 

"And  you  must  talk  just  as  entertaining  as  you 
can " 

"Yes." 

"And  you  musn't  look  at  your  watch  nor  feel  uneasy, 
biit  quietly  remove  your  amber  kids,  then  lay  your 
London  overcoat  on  the  sofa,  and  sit  down  as  if  you 
had  called  by  special  invitation  to  spend  the  entire 
evening;"  and  then  Sallie's  great  liquid  eyes  looked 
down  on  her  fan. 

"Well,  what  then?"  I  asked,  deeply  interested. 

"Why,  a  Brown's  Boy  is  a  spocny  fellow,  you  know. 
His  strength  lies  in  cornering  a  girl,  and  coming  the 
sentimental  dodge.  He  won't  be  able  to  stand  such  a 


70 

siege  as  this,  and  I'll  bet  a  dozen 

he'll  get  up  and  leave  the  field  to  you." 
"All  right,  my  dear  Sallie;  I'll  try  it." 
Then  I  took  her  dainty  little  hand,  and  pondered 

on  her  stupendous  strategy  which  was   to    demoralize 

this   Brown's   Boy,  and   perhaps   capture   the   loveliest 

blonde  girl  on  Madison  avenue. 


Last  night  I  mounted  the  brown-stone  steps  which 
led  to  Julia's  palatial  residence,  with  a  heart  big  with 
resolution.  I  resolved  to  see  Julia  and  talk  with  her 
alone,  at  all  hazards.  At  the  touch  of  the  bell,  the 
big  walnut  and  bronze  door  swung  back.  In  a  second 
I  saw  that  miserable  silver-tongued  Charley  Brown — 
that  flirting  Brown's  Boy — on  the  sofa  with  Julia. 

As  I  entered,  Charley  started,  and  Julia's  diamond 
rings  flashed  a  straight  streak  of  light  from  Charley 
Brown's  hands.  Oh  dear !  those  flirting  Brown's  Boys  ! 

"Ah,  Julia,  I'm  delighted  to  have  an  opportunity  of 
spending  an  evening  with  you,"  I  commenced,  as  I 
slipped  off  my  gloves. 

"  Our  happiness  is  mutual,  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Perkins," 
replied  Miss  Julia.  "Won't  you  remove  your  over- 
coat?" 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Julia;  it  would  be  unpleasant  to 
sit  a  whole  evening  with  one's  overcoat  on,  and " 

"Then  you  are  liable  to  take  cold  when  you  go  out," 
suggested  Julia,  interrupting  me. 

"Especially  when  one  expects  to  sit  and  talk  for 
several  hours,"  I  continued ;  "  and  when  I  have  so 


71 

much  to  say  as  I  have  to-night,  I  don't  know  when  I 
shall  get  through." 

Charley  Brown  began  to  be  a  little  uneasy  now,  and 
looking  at  his  watch,  ventured  to  ask : 

"Is  Nilsson  to  sing  Mignon  to-night,  Mr.  Perkins?" 

Of  course  I  didn't  hear  Charley,  but  kept  blazing 
right  straight  away  at  Julia  about  ritualism  and  parties 
and  Lent,  and  all  such  society  trash. 

"  Oh,  Miss  Julia,  did  you  hear  about  Jay  Gould  get- 
ting shot?"  I  asked,  remembering  how  cousin  Sallie 
said  I  must  entertain  her,  and  talk  Charley  Brown  out 
of  his  boots. 

"  Jay  Gould  got  shot !  How  ?  Where  ?"  exclaimed 
Julia. 

"  Why,  in  a  Seventh  avenue  hardware  store.  I  mean 
he  got  pigeon  shot  for  the  Jerome  Park  pigeon  match." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Perkins!     Ha!   ha!  how  could  you?" 

Then  Charley  looked  at  his  watch. 

"By  the  way,  Miss  Julia,  do  you  know  which  is  the 
strongest  day  in  the  week?"  I  asked  modestly,  taking 
her  beautiful  gold  fan. 

"No.     Which  is  the  strongest  day,  Mr.  Perkins?" 

"Why,  Sunday,  Julia;  don't  you 
know  all  the  other  days  are  weak 
days!" 

u  Oh,  Mr.  Perkins !  Ha  !  ha !  you'll 
kill  us,"  exclaimed  Julia  (while  Char- 
ley looked  at  his  watch).  Then  he 
remarked  that  "  Samson *s  .weakest 
day  was  the  day  he  let  Delilah  cut 

.        ,  CHARLEY   BROWN. 

off  his  hair:     but  nobody  heard  him. 


72 

Charley  now  began  to  be  uneasy.  .He  whirled  in 
his  chair,  then  looked  at  his  watch  again,  and,  standing 
up,  remarked  that  he  had  some  letters  to  write,  and  that 
duty  called  him  home  early. 

"  Don't  be  in  a  hurry,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Julia,  still 
talking  with  me. 

"Good  bye,  Mr.  Brown,  good  bye!"  I  said,  grasping 
his  hand.  "  Next  time,  I  hope,  I  sha'n't  have  so  much 
to  say  to  Miss  Julia." 

As  Charley  passed  into  the  hall  I  asked  Julia  which 
were  worth  the  most  —  young  gentlemen  or  young 
ladies  ? 

"  Why,  young  ladies,  of  course — don't  you  always 
call  us  dear  creatures  ?" 

"Yes,  but,  my  dear  Julia" — I  talked  fondly  now, 
for  Charley  was  gone — "you  know,  my  dear,  that  at 
the  last  end  you  are  given  away,  while  the  gentleman 
is  often  sold!" 

"  Oh,  Eli,  you  are  very  wicked  to  make  such  a  re- 
mark, when  you  know  every  young  lady  who  marries 
one  of  Brown's  Boys  is  sold  in  the  worst  way.  I  don't 
think  Brown's  Boys  are  ever  sold.  They  are  soulless 
fellows.  But  then  they  are  so  nice,  they  dance  divinely, 
and  they  are  so  spoony — when  a  girl  happens  to  have 
a  rich  father.  They  do  dance  the  German  so  nicely; 
and  then  they  bow  so  nice  on  the  avenue  on  Sunday, 
and  come  and  see  us  in  our  papa's  boxes  at  the  opera, 
and " 

"And  run  out  us  solid  fellows  who  mean  business-, 
who  don't  know  how  to  flirt,  and  who  really  love  you," 
I  interrupted. 


73 

"What!  you  mean  business,  Mr.  Perkins?"  and  Julia 
gave  me  a  searching  look. 

"Yes,  my  dear  Julia;"  and  then  I  took  her  hand 
convulsively.  Neither  of  us  said  a  word ;  but,  oh ! 
how  you  could  have  heard  the  heart-beating! 

Julia  never  took  it  away  at  all,  and  now  I'm  a 
happy  man — all  because  cousin  Sallie  Smith  told  me 
how  to  do  it! 


RICH    BROWN'S    BOYS. 


FIFTH  AVENUE  HOTEL,  ) 
August  i.  ) 

THE  rich  Brown's  Boys! 
Not  the  poor  Brown's 
Boys  who  live  on  side  streets, 
and  buy  $i  tickets,  and 
swell  in  amber  kids  in  rich 
young  ladies'  $20  boxes  at 
the  opera — smart  fellows, 
who  really  can't  do  any 
better,  but  the  good-for- 
nothing  rich  Brown's  Boys. 
Who  are  they  ? 

Why,  the  city  is  full  of  them. 
They  have  rich  fathers;  they  drive 
their  father's  horses ;  their  fathers  are 
stockholders  in  the  Academy,  and  the 
boys  occupy  the  seats.  Their  mission 
is  to  spend  their  father's  money  and 
live  like  barnacles  on  his  reputation. 
They  don't  know  how  to  do  anything 
useful,  and  they  don't  have  anything  useful  to  do. 
They  come  into  the  world  to  be  supported.  They  are 
social  and  financial  parasites.  A  poor  Brown's  Boy 
does  the  best  he  can,  but  these  fellows  do  the  worst 
they  can. 

74 


RICH    BROWN  S   BOY. 


75 

Rich  girls  "go  for"  them  on  account  of  their  rich 
fathers.  They  marry  them,  have  a  swell  wedding,  and 
then  spend  a  lifetime  mourning  that  they  did  not  marry 
a  brave,  strong,  working  fellow,  who  would  have  felt 
rich  in  their  affections,  and  who,  with  a  little  help  from 
father-in-law,  would  have  hewn  his  way  to  wealth  and 
position. 

«• 

RULES    FOR    MAKING    RICH    BROWN'S    BOYS. 

Below  I  give  the  ten  cardinal  rules  which,  if  followed, 
will  make  a  rich  Brown's  Boy  out  of  any  brainless  son 
of  a  rich  father.  Any  young  New  Jersey  Stockton, 
Kentucky  Ward,  or  Massachusetts  Lawrence — yes,  any 
Darnphool  Republican  Prince  of  Wales  can  carry  out 
these  simple  rules,  and  thus  attain  to  the  glorious  posi- 
tion of  a  rich  Brown's  Boy.  If  carried  out  they  will 
produce  the  same  result  nine  times  out  of  ten.  I  have 
seen  them  tried  a  thousand  times : 

v  RULES. 

First. — If  your  father  is  rich  or  holds  a  high  position 
socially — and  you  are  a  good-for-nothing,  dissipated, 
darnphool  of  a  swell,  without  sense  or  character  enough 
to  make  a  living,  pay  your  addresses  to  some  rich  girl 
— and  marry  her  if  you  can. 

Second. — Go  home  and  live  with  her  father,  and  mag- 
nanimously spend  her  money.  Keep  up  your  flirtations 
around  town  just  the  same.  Gamble  a  little,  and  always 
dine  at  the  Clubs. 

Third. — After  your  wife  has  nursed  you  through  a 
spell  of  sickness,  and  she  looks  languid  and  warn  with 


76 

anxiety,  tell  her,  like  a  high-toned  gentleman,  that  she 
has  grown  plain-looking — then  scold  her  a  little  and 
make  love  to  her  maid  ! 

Fourth. — If  your  weary  wife  objects,  I'd  insult  her — 
tell  her  you  won't  be  tyrannized  over.  Then  come 
home  drunk  once  or  twice  a  week,  and  empty  the  coal- 
scuttle into  the  piano  and  pour  the  kerosene  lamps 
over  her  Saratoga  trunks  and  into  the  baby's  cradle. 
When  .she  cries,  I'd  twit  her  about  the  high  (hie)  social 
position  of  my  own  (hie)  family. 

Fifth. — If,  weary  and  sick  and  heartbroken,  she 
finally  asks  for  a  separation,  I'd  blacken  her  character 
— deny  the  paternity  of  my  own  children — get  a  divorce 
myself.  Then  by  wise  American  law  you  can  keep  all 
her  money,  and,  while  she  goes  back  in  sorrow  to  her 
father,  you  can  magnanimously  peddle  out  to  her  a 
small  dowry  from  her  own  estate. 

Sixth. — If  she  asks  you — audaciously  asks  you — for 
any  of  her  own  money,  tell  her  to  go  to  the  Dev — 
Devil  (the  very  one  she  has  come  to). 

Seventh. — Now  I  'd  keep  a  mistress  and  a  poodle  dog, 
and  ride  up  to  the  Park  with  them  in  a  gilded  landaulet 
every  afternoon.  While  this  miserable,  misguided 
woman  will  be  trodden  in  the  dust  by  society  you  can 
attain  to  the  heights  of  modern  chivalry  by  leading  at 
charity  balls  in  public,  and  breeding  bull-pups  and 
coach-dogs  at  home. 

Eighth. — After  you  have  used  up  your  wife's  last 
money  in  dissipation,  and  brought  your  father's  gray 
hairs  down  in  sorrow  to  the  grave,  I'd  get  the  delirium 
tremens  and  shoot  myself.  This  will  create  a  sensation 


77 

in  the  newspapers  and  cause  every  other-rich  Brown's 
Boy  to  call  you  high-toned  and  chivalrous.     . 

Ninth. — Then  that  poor  angel  wife,  crushed  in  spirit, 
tried  in  the  crucible  of  adversity,  and  purified  by  the 
beautiful  "  Do-unto-others  "  of  the  Christ-child,  will 
go  into  mourning,  and  build  with  her  last  money  a 
monument  to  the  memory  of  the  man  who  crushed 
her  bleeding  heart. 


SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORY 

OF 

J.   LAWRENCE    BROWN. 

Died   May  12,  1876. 

He  was  a  kind  father  and 
an  indulgent  husband.  He 
always  indulged  himself. 

"  The  pure  in  spirit  shall 
see  God." 

He  owned  a  2  40  Hoss. 


BROWN'S   GIRLS. 


DIARY     OF    TWO    DAYS   IN    HER   LIFE. 

BROWN'S  Girls  ! 

Yes,  we  have  Brown's  Girls,  too. 

They  are  a  set  of  husband-hunting  young  ladies — 
smart,  accomplished,  and  pretty,  but  with  no  hearts. 
They  only  marry  for  money.  They  are  thus  taught  by 
their  mothers,  and  failing  to  catch  fortunes,  many  of 
them  become  blase  old  maids. 

Below  I  give  the  diary  of  two  days  in  the  life  of  a 
New  York  young  lady.  At  nineteen  she  is  honest, 
loveable,  and  innocent.  Seven  years  after  she  becomes 
a  blase.  Brown's  Girl. 

HER    DIARY 1875. 

May  i,  1875. — Nineteen  to-day — 
and  I'm  too  happy  to  live !  How 
lovely  the  Park  looked  this  morning. 
How  gracefully  the  swans  swam  on 
the  lake,  and  how  the  yellow  dan- 
delions lifted  up  their  yellow  faces 
— all  smiles  ! 

U  NINETEEN   TO-DAY  !" 

Albert — dear  Albert — passed  mam- 
ma and  me,  and  bowed  so  gracefully !  Mamma  frowned 
at  him.  O,  dear !  I  am  not  quite  happy. 

Last    night    my    first    ball,*  and    Albert    was    there. 

78 


79 

Four  times  he  came,  and  I  let  him  put  his  name  on 
my  card — then  mamma  frowned  savagely.  She  said  I 
ought  to  be  ashamed  to  waste  my  time  with  a  poof: 
fellow  like  Albert  Sinclair.  Then  she  brought  up  old 
Thompson,  that  horrid  rich  old  widower,  and  I  had 
to  scratch  Albert's  name  off.  When  Albert  saw  me 
dancing  with  Thompson  the  color  came  to  his  cheeks, 
and  he  only  just  touched  the  ends  of  my  fingers  in 
the  grand  chain. 

O,  dear,  one  of  Albert's  little  fingers 
is  worth  more  than  old  Thompson's 
right  arm.  How  stupidly  old  Thompson 
talked,  but  mamma  smiled  all  the  time. 
Once  she  tipped  me  on  the  shoulder, 
and  said  in  a  low,  harsh  voice,  "  Be 

ALBERT     SINCLAIR.  -    -  T    .          .  ..  -  ..          „, 

agreeable,  Lizzie,  for  Mr.  Ihompson  is 
a  great  catch."  Then  Thompson,  the  stupid  old  fool, 
tried  to  talk  like  the  young  fellows.  He  told  me  I 
looked  "  stunning,"  said  the  ball  was  a  "  swell  "  affair, 
and  then  asked  me  to  ride  up  to  the  Park  in  his  four- 
horse  drag.  Bah !  Mother  says  I  must  go,  but,  O, 
dear,  I'd  rather  walk  two  blocks  with  Albert  than  ride 
ten  miles  in  a  chariot  with  the  old  dyed  whiskers. 

After  supper  such  an  event  took  place.  Albert 
joined  me,  and  after  a  lovely  waltz  we  wandered  into 
the  conservatory  and  had  a  nice  confidential  chat  to- 
gether. It  is  wonderful  how  we  both  like  the  same 
things.  He  admires  the  beautiful  moon — so  do  I.  I 
love  the  stars,  and  so  does  he !  We  both  like  to  look 
out  of  the  open  window,  ar\d  we  both  like  to  be  near 
each  other — that  is,  I  know  I  do.  Albert  dotes  on 


80 

Longfellow,  and,  O,  don't  I !  I  like  Poe,  and  so  does 
Albert,  and  the  little  tears  fairly  started  (but  Albert 
didn't  see  them)  when  he  repeated  softly  in  my 
ear:  ^ 

"  For  the  moon  never  beams,  without  bringing  me  dreams, 
Of  my  beautiful  Annabel  Lee  ; 

And  the  stars  never  rise,  but  I  feel  the  bright  eyes 
Of  my  beautiful  Annabel  Lee," 

— and  a  good  deal  more  besides,  about  love  and  the 
sounding  sea.  Then  Fannie  Carter,  who  is  in  my  class 
at  Mrs.  Hoffman's,  came  by  with  Will  Mason,  and  sat 
right  down  in  the  next  window.  I  do  believe  she 
loves  him  ! 

What  a  nice,  sensible  talk  Albert  and  I  had!  First, 
we  began  talking  about  the  soul — how  destiny  some- 
times bound  two  souls  together  by  an  invisible  chain. 
Then  we  considered  the  mission  of  man  and  woman 
upon  the  earth — how  they  ought  to  comfort  and  sup- 
port each  other  in  sickness  and  in  health.  And  then 
Albert  quite  startled  me  by  asking  me  if  I  had  ever 
cared  for  any  one.  And  when  I  said  "  Yes,  papa  and 
"mamma,"  he  laughed,  and  said  he  did  not  mean  them, 
and  then  I  felt  quite  hurt,  and  the  tears  would  come 
into  my  eyes,  for  I  do  love  mamma,  even  if  she  does 
make  me  dance  with  that  horrid  old  Thompson,,  with 
his  dyed  whiskers. 

Then  Albert  leaned  his  face  towards  mine.  I  felt 
his  mustache  almost  touch  me  as  he  whispered  such 
nice  words  in  my  ear.  He  told  me  how  he  had  longed 
for  an  opportunity  to  speak  to  me  alone,  how — and 
then  I  was  so  happy,  for  I  knew  he  was  going  to  say 


81 


something  very  nice  indeed — when  ma,  with  that  dread- 
ful old  widower,  came  along  and  interrupted  us. 

"Come,  Lizzie,  you  go  with  Mr.  Thompson, -for  I 
want  to  present  Mr.  Sinclair  to  Miss  Brown,"  and  then 
ma — O,  dear!  she  took  Albert  and  presented  him  to 
the  girl  that  I  hate  worst  of  anybody  in  school.  I 
didn't  see  Albert  again,  for  when  he  came  around,  ma 
said,  "  Lizzie,  it  looks  horrible  to  be  seen  dancing  with 
Albert  Sinclair  all  the  evening.  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself." 

O,  dear,  I  look  like  a  fright — I  know  I  do,  but  I 
do  hope  I  shall  look  better  when  I  see  Albert  on  the 
avenue  to-morrow.  Let's  see — I  wonder  if  he  won't 
write  to  me  ?  But  I'll  see  him  when  he  walks  up  from 
business  to-night — maybe. 

HER    DIARY,     1882. 

May  i,  1882. — Out  again  last 
night.  What  a  horrible  bore  par- 
ties are!  I  hate  society.  New 
York  women  are  so  prudish,  with 
their  atrocious  high-neck  dresses, 
and  the  fellows  are  so  wretchedly 
slow.  O,  dear !  Everything  goes 
wrong.  If  I  hadn't  met  Bob  Mun- 
roe,  who  took  us  to  the  Mabille  and 
the  Alhambra,  on  the  other  side 
last  summer,  I'd  'a'  died.  Bob's  double  entendre  rather 
startled  the  poky  New  York  girls,  though.  Gracious, 
they  ought  to  hear  the  French  beaux  talk !  They  do 
make  such  a  fuss  about  our  Paris  de'colleti  dresses. 


THE   BLASE   GIRL. 


Why,  Bessie  Brown  wore  a  dress  at  a  Queen's  Draw- 
ing Room  with  hardly  any  body  on  at  all — and  she 
had  that  same  dress  on  last  night.  Of  course  1 
could  not  stand  any  chance  with  her,  for  dfaolleti 
dresses  do  take  the  fellows  so.  But  I'll  be  on  hand 
next  time. 

Young  Sinclair,  with  whom  I  used  to  "  spoon  "  years 
ago,  was  there — and  married  to  Fannie  Carter,  my 
old  classmate.  Pshaw!  she  is  a  poky,  old,  high- 
necked,  married  woman  now,  and  Sinclair — well,  they 
say  that  he  was  almost  broken-hearted  at  my  con- 
duct— that  he  drank,  and  then  reformed  and  joined 
the  church,  and  is  now  a  leading  clergyman.  Well, 
I'm  glad  Sinclair  became  a  preacher.  I  always  knew 
black  would  become  his  complexion. 
What  if  I  should  go  and  hear  him 
preach,  flirt  with  him  a  little,  and  get 
his  poky  old  wife  jealous !  Good- 
ness !  but  don't  he  look  serious,, 
though  !  There's  a  glass — gracious ! 
I'm  as  pale  as  a  ghost!  There's  no 
use  of  my  trying  to  dress  without 
rouge.  I  do  wish  they  would  learn 
how  to  put  on  pearl  white  here — why,  every  wrinkle 
shows  through.  Then  I  do  wish  New  York  fellows 
would  learn  how  to  dance!  —  that  atrocious  galop 
upset  my  pads,  and  I  had  to  leave  in  the  middle  of 
the  dance  to  arrange  things.  Old  Thompson  is  dead, 
died  single — but  his  brother,  the  rich  whiskey  man, 
was  there,  and  gracious!  it  was  fun  to  dance  with 
him  after  he  had  taken  in  his  usual  two  bottles  of 


REV.    ALBERT   SINCLAIR. 


83 

champagne.  He  turned  everything — the  lanciers,  polka, 
and  all — into  the  Virginia  reel.  That's  Bob  Monroe's 
pun.  But  after  we  got  through  dancing,  didn't  I 
have  a  flirtation  with  Old  Thompson  No.  2  while 
Albert  Sinclair  was  helping  mother  to  some  refresh- 
ments! Dear  old  thing,  she  don't  bother  me  in  my 
conservatory  flirtation  any  more.  Well,  Old  Thompson 
No.  2  got  quite  affectionate — wanted  to  kiss  my  hand, 
and  when  I  let  him  he  wanted  to  kiss  me!  The 
old  wretch — when  he's  got  a  wife  and  three  daughters. 
But  I  had  my  fun — I  made  him  propose  condition- 
ally— that  is,  i-f  Mrs.  Thompson  dies ;  and  I  tell  ma 
then  I'm  going  to  be  one  of  our  gay  and  dashing 
young  wives  with  an  old  fool  of  a  husband — and 
plenty  of  lovers.  O,  dear!  I'm  tired  and  sleepy,  and 
I  do  believe  my  head  aches  awfully,  and  it's  that 
abominable  champagne.  What  goosies  Fannie  Carter 
and  Albert  Sinclair  have  made  of  themselves  !  What 
fun  can  she  have  with  the  men  ?  O,  dear ! 


ADVICE   TO   YOUNG    MEN. 


LET  ME  TELL  YOU  SUTHIN  ,   ELI. 


"  ELI  !" 
"Yes,  sir." 

"Are  you  listening?" 
continued  my  Uncle  Con- 
sider, as  he  took  his  pipe 
out  of  his  mouth,  laid 
down  his  glasses,  and 
poked  the  fire  with  the 
tongs.. 

"With  both  ears,  Un- 
cle." 

"Well,  let  me  tell  you  suthin'.  If  you  want  to  be 
wize,  Eli,  you  must  allers  listen.  If  you  want  to  be 
wize  you  must  let  other  people  do  all  the  talkin' — 
then  you'll  soon  know  all  they  know,  Eli,  and  have 
your  own  nolledge  besides.  D'you  see?" 
"Yes,  Uncle." 

"And  never  you  blow  a  man's 
brains  out  to  get  his  money,  Eli, 
but  just  sly  around  and  blow  his 
money  out  and  get  his  brains — 

"  And  be  temp'rate  and  econo- 
mical, Eli,  and " 

"  Yes,  Uncle,  I  always  try  to  be 
careful.     I  always  owe  enough  to 
pay  all  my  debts,  and   I'd  rather 
CAREFUL  ELI.  owe  a  man  forever  than  cheat  him 

84 


85 

out  of  it.  I'd  pay  every  debt  I  owe  if  I  had  to  go 
out  and  borrow  money  to  do  it;  I  would.  The  fact 
is,  Uncle,"  I  said,  getting  excited,  "  I  always  advise 
the  boys  to  be  steady  and  saving.  I  advise  'em  to 
stick,  stick  to  their  places  and  be  temperate,  no  matter 
how  hard  they  have  to  work,  and  it'll  make  men  of 
'em.  But  the  rascals " 

"What,  Eli?" 

"  Why,  they  all  .pay  more  'tention  to  my  example 
than  they  do  to  my  precepts,  and  they're  all  turnin' 
out  loafers." 

"  That's  dre'fful  sad,  Eli,"  said  my  Uncle,  wiping  his 
eyes  sorrowfully,  "when  I've  allers  talkt  to  you  so 
much  about  the  dignity  of  labor — when  I've  allers 
taught  you  to  obey  the  script'ral  injunction  to  live  by 
the  sweat  of  your  brow." 

"But  I  always  do  that;    don't  I,  Uncle?" 

"  Yes ;  but  how  can  you  live  by  the  sweat  of  your 
brow,  Eli,  when  you  spend  all  your  time  trav'lin' 
'round  and  lecturin'  and  foolin'  about?  How  can 
you?" 

"Why,  Uncle,  that's  just  what  I  travel  for.  I  go 
down  South  winters,  where  it  is  hot,  so  I  can  live  by 
the  sweat  of  my  brow  without  working  so  hard." 

"And  about  this  drinkin'  business,  Eli — this  drinkin' 
wine  and  cider  and  beer  ?  Don't  you  know  the  Bible 
is  agin  it?  Don't  you?" 

"Yes,  Uncle,  I  know  it;  but  haven't  you  read  the 
parable  in  the  Bible  about  turnin'  water  into  wine?" 

"Yes,  my  nevvy." 

"  Well,  that's  all  I  do,  Uncle ;  I  just  turn  water  into 


86 

my  wine,  and  I  don't  turn  much  water  in  either, 
and " 

"  What's  that,  Eli !  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you 
ever  drink  at  all?  Do  you " 

"  No,  Uncle,  never.  The  tempter  came  to  me  the 
other  day.  But  when  they  pressed  me  to  take  whiskey 
I  took  umbrage " 

"  Took  umbrage,  did  you !  O,  my  nevvy,  that  must 
be  an  awful  drink !  Umbrage  ?  O,  did  I  think  it 
would  ever  come  to  this? — u-m-b-r-a-g-e,"  and  Uncle 
Consider  wiped  his  eyes  with  his  red  bandana. 

"But,  Uncle,"  I  said,  trying  to  cheer  the  old  man 
up,  "I'm  opposed  to  whiskey.  I  do  not  drink  with 
impunity.  I " 

"Don't  drink  with  Impunity,  Eli!  Well,  I  thought 
you  allers  drank  with  everybody  who  invited  you. 
Mebby  Impunity  didn't  invite  you,  Eli?  Well,  well, 
well,  well,  I  am  glad  to  find  one  man  that  you  refused 
to  drink  with,  I  am."  And  Uncle  Consider  knocked 
the  ashes  out  of  his  pipe  and  fell  asleep  in  his  chair, 
repeating,  "Didn't  drink  with  Impunity." 


THE   FUNNY   SIDE   OF  FISK. 


A    QUEER    MAN. 

YES,  Colonel  Fisk  was  a  funny  man,  and  a  man 
always  full  of  humor  could  not  have  been  a  very  bad 
man  at  heart. 

Once  I  had  occasion  to  spend  an  hour  with  the 
Colonel  in  his  palatial  Erie  office,  and  a  record  of 
that  hour  I  then  wrote  out.  Fisk  was  being  shaved  as 
I  entered,  and  his  face  was  half-covered  with  foaming 
lather.  Just  then  some  one  came  in  and  told  him  that 
the  gentlemen  in  the  office  had  made  up  a  purse  of 
$34  to  be  presented  to  little  Peter,  Fisk's  favorite  -little 
office  boy. 

"  All  right,"  said  the  Colonel,  smiling  and  wiping  the 
lather  from  his  face.    "Call  in  Peter." 
In   a   moment   little    Peter    entered 
with   a    shy   look   and    seemingly   half 
frightened. 

"Well,  Peter,"  said  the  Colonel,  as 
he  held  the  envelope  with   the  money 
in   one    hand    and    the    towel    in  the 
PETER.  other,    "what   did    you   mean,    sir,   by 

absenting  yourself  from  the  Erie  Office,  the  other  day, 
when  both  Mr.  Gould  and  I  were  away,  and  had  left 
the  whole  mass  of  business  on  your  shoulders?" 

87 


Then  he  frowned  fearfully,  while  Peter  trembled  from 
head  to  foot. 

"  But,  my  boy,"  continued  Fisk,  "  I  will  not  blame 
you ;  there  may  be  extenuating  circumstances.  Evil 
associates  may  .have  tempted  you  away.  Here,  Peter, 
take  this  (handing  him  the  834),  and  henceforth  let  your 
life  be  one  of  rectitude — quiet  rectitude,  Peter.  Be- 
hold me,  Peter,  and  remember  that  evil  communications 
are  not  always  the  best  policy,  but  that  honesty  is  worth 
two  in  the  bush." 

As  Peter  went  back  to  his  place  beside  the  outside 
door  everybody  laughed,  and  Fisk  sat  down  again  to 
have  the  other  side  of  his  face  shaved. 

Pretty  quick  in  came  a  little  dried-up 
old  gentleman,  with  keen  gray  eyes  sur- 
mounted by  an  overpowering  Panama  hat. 
The  Erie  Railway  office  was  then  the 
old  gentleman's  almost  daily  rendezvous. 
DREW.  Here  he  would  sit  for  hours  at  a.  time, 

and  peer  out  fiom  under  his  broadbrim  at  the  wonder- 
ful movements  of  Colonel  Fisk.  Cautious,  because  he 
could  move  but  slowly,  this  venerable  gentleman,  who 
has  made  Wall  Street  tremble,  hitched  up  to  the  gold 
indicator,  all  the  time  keeping  one  eye  on  the  quotations 
and  the  other  on  the  Colonel.  As  a  feeler,  he  vent- 
ured to  ask  : 

"  How  is  Lake  Shore  this  morning,  Colonel  ?" 

"  Peter,"  said  Fisk,  with  awful  gravity,  "  communi- 
cate with  the  Great  American  Speculator  and  show 
him  how  they  are  dealing  on  the  street !" 

The    old    man    chuckled,    Gould    hid    a    smile    while 


89 

smoothing  his  jetty  whiskers,  and  little  Peter  took  hold 
of  the  running  wire  with  Daniel  Drew.  It  was  the 
beginning  and  the  ending  —  youth  and  experience  — 
simplicity  and  shrewdness — Peter  and  Daniel ! 

Little  Peter  was  about  ten  years  old,  and  small  at 
that.  Frequently  large  men  would  come  into  the  Erie 
office  and  ""bore  "  the  Colonel.  Then  he  would  say : 

"  Here,  Peter,  take  this  man  into  custody,  and  hold 
him  under  arrest  until  we  send  for  him!" 

"  You  seem  very  busy  to-day  ?"  I  remarked,  handing 
the  Colonel  a  cigar. 

"Yes,  Eli,"  said  Fisk,  smiling.  "I'm  trying  to  find 
out  from  all  these  papers  where  Gould  gets  money 
enough  to  pay  his  income  tax.  He  never  has  any 
money — -fact,  sir!  He  even  wanted  to  borrow  of  me 
to  pay  his  income  tax  last  summer,  and  I  lent  him  four 
hundred  dollars,  and  that's  gone,  too !  This  income 
business  will  be  the  ruination  of  Gould."  Here  the 
venerable  Daniel  Drew  concealed  a  laugh,  and  Gould 
turned  clear  around,  so  that  Fisk  could  only  see  the 
back  of  his  head,  while  his  eyes  twinkled  in  enjoyment 
of  the  Colonel's  fun. 

"What  will  be  the  end  of  putting  down  the  railroad 
fares,  Colonel?"  I  asked,  referring  to  the  jealous  op- 
position in  fares  then  existing  between  the  Erie  and 
New  York  Central. 

"  End !  why  we  haven't  begun  yet.  We  intend  to 
carry  passengers  through  to  Chicago,  before  we  get 
through,  two  for  a  cent  and  feed  them  on  the  way; 
and  when  old  Van  does  the  same  the  public  will  go 
on  his  road  just  to  spite  him!" 


90 

"Of  course,  the  Erie  is  the  best  road,"  continued 
Fisk,  in  his  Munchausen  way.  "It  runs  faster  and 
smoother.  When  Judge  Porter  went  up  with  me  in 
the  Directors'  car,  last  winter,  we  passed  200  canal 
boats,  about  a  mile  apart,  on  the  Delaware  and  Hud- 
son canal.  The  train  went  so  fast  that  the  Judge 
came  back  and  reported  that  he  saw  one  gigantic 
canal  boat  ten  miles  long!  Fact,  sir!  We  went  so 
fast  the  Judge  couldn't  see  the  gaps!" 

"  Are  the*  other  railroads  going  to  help  you  in  this 
fight?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  yes,  they  say  they  will;  but  they  are  all 
afraid  to  do  anything  till  we  get  Vanderbilt  tied  fast. 
Do  you  want  me  to  tell  you  who  these  other  half- 
scared  railroad  fellows,  Garrett  and  Tom  Scott,  re- 
mind me  of?"  asked  the  Colonel,  leaning  himself  for- 
ward, with  his  elbows  on  his  knees. 

"Yes;  who,  Colonel?" 

"Well,  Scott  and  Garrett  remind  me  of  the  old 
Texas  ranchman,  whose  neighbors  had  caught  a  noted 
cattle-thief.  After  catching  him,  they  tied  him  to  a 
tree,  hands  and  feet,  and  each  one  gave  him  a  terrible 
cowhiding.  When  tired  of  walloping  him,  they  left 
the  poor  thief  tied  to  the  tree,  head  and  foot.  He 
remained  tied  up  there  a  good  while  in  great  agony, 
till  by  and  by  he  saw  with  delight  a  strange  man 
coming  along. 

"'Who  are  you?'  said  the  kindly-looking  stran- 
ger. 

h     "'I'm    Bill    Smith,    and    I've    been    whipped    almost 
to  death,'  said  the  man  in  a  pitiful  tone. 


91 

" '  Ah,  Bill  Smith,  how  could  they  whip  you — a  poor 
lone  man  ?'  asked  the  sympathizing  stranger. 

"  'Why,  don't  you  see?     Pm  tied: 

"  'What,  did  they  tie  you  up?' 

" '  Yes,  tied  me  tight.  Don't  you  see  the  strings 
now  ?' 

"'Poor  man!  How  could  they  be  so  cruel?'  sighed 
the  stranger. 

"  '  But  I'm  tied  now,'  groaned  the  man. 

" '  What !  tied  now — tied  so  you  can't  move  this 
very  moment,  Bill  ?'  asked  the  stranger,  eagerly  exam- 
ining the  ropes. 

"  '  Yes,  tied  tight,  hands  and  feet,  and  I  can't  move 
a  muscle,'  said  the  thief,  pitifully. 

"  '  Well,  William,  as  you  are  tied  tight,  I  don't  mind 
if  I  give  you  a  few  licks  myself  for  that  horse  you 
stole  from  me,'  said  the  stranger,  cutting  a  tremendous 
whip  from  a  bunch  of  thorn  bushes.'  Then,"  said  Fisk, 
"he  flogged  him  awhile,  just  as  all  these  small  railroad 
fellows  would  like  to  flog  Vanderbilt  if  he  was  well 
tied." 

But,  alas,  they  never  get  Vanderbilt  tied. 

FISK    AND    MONTALAND. 

WHEN  Montaland  got  on  from  Paris,  last  year,  Fisk 
had  just  said  farewell  to  "Josie,"  and  so  he  took 
extra  pains  to  make  a  good  impression  on  his  beau- 
tiful prima  donna. 

On  the  first  sunshiny  afternoon  after  Montaland 
had  seen  the  Wonderful  Opera  House,  Fisk  took  her 
out  to  the  Park  behind  his  magnificent  six-in-hand. 


92 

Passing  up  Fifth  avenue,  Montaland's  eyes  rested  on 
A.  T.  Stewart's  marble  house. 

"Vat  ees  zat  ?"  she  asked,  in  broken  French. 

"Why,  that  is  my  city  residence,"  said  Fisk,  with  an 
air  of  profound  composure. 

"  C'esf  magnifique — c'est  grande  !  "  repeated  Monta- 
land,  in  admiration. 

Soon  they  came  to  Central  Park. 

"Vat  ees  zees  place?"  asked  Montaland. 

"  O,  this  is  my  country  seat ;  these  are  my  grounds — 
my  cattle  and  buffaloes,  and  those  sheep  over  there 
compose  my  pet  sheepfold,"  said  Fisk,  twirling  the 
end  of  his  mustache  a  la  Napoleon. 

"C'est  tres  magnifique!"  exclaimed  Montaland  in 
bewilderment.  "Mr.  Feesk  is  one  grand  Americain!" 

By-and-by  they  rode  back  and  down  Broadway, 
by  the  Domestic  Sewing  Machine  building. 

"And  is  zees  your  grand  maison,  too  ?"  asked  Mon- 
taland, as  she  pointed  up  to  the  iron  palace. 

"  No,  Miss  Montaland ;  to  be  frank  with  you,  that 
building  does  not  belong  to  me,"  said  Fisk,  as  he 
settled  back  with  his  hand  in  his  bosom — "  that  belongs 
to  Mr.  Gould  r 

FISK    DEAD. 

ONE  day  I  called  at  the  Erie  office.  Col.  Fisk's 
old  chair  was  vacant,  and  his  desk  was  draped  in 
mourning.  Fisk's  remains  lay  cold  and  stiff,  just  as 
he  fell  at  the  Grand  Central,  pierced  by  the  fatal  bullet 
from  Stokes's  pistol.  His  old  associates  were  silent, 
or  gathered  in  groups  to  tell  over  reminiscences  of  the 


93 

dead  Colonel,  whose  memory  was  beloved  and  revered 
by  his  companions. 

Mr.  Gould  never  tired  in  telling  about  Fisk's  good 
qualities.  Even  while  he  was  telling  the  quaintest 
anecdotes  about  his  dead  partner,  his  eyes  would  glisten 
with  tears. 

"  One  day,"  said  Mr.  Gould,  "  Fisk  came  to  me  and 
told  me  confidentially  about  his  first  mistake  in  life." 

"What  was  it?"  I  asked. 

"Well,"  said  Gould,  as  he  laughed  and  wiped  his 
eyes  alternately,  "  Fisk  said  that  when  he  was  an  in- 
nocent little  boy,  living  on  his  father's  farm  up  at 
Brattleboro,  Vermont,  his  father  took  him  into  the 
stable  one  day,  where  a  row  of  cows  stood  in  their 
uncleaned  stalls. 

"Said  he,  'James>  tne  stable  window  is  pretty  high 
for  a  boy,  but  do  you  think  you  could  take  this  shovel 
and  clean  out  the  stable?' 

" '  I  don't  know,  Pop,'  says  I ;  'I  never  have  done 
it.' 

"'Well,  my  boy,  if  you  will  do  it  this  morning,  I'll 
give  you  this  bright  silver  dollar,'  said  my  father,  pat- 
ting me  on  my  head,  while  he  held  the  silver  dollar 
before  my  eyes. 

"'Good,'  says  I;  'I'll  try,'  and  then  I  went  to  work. 
I  tugged  and  pulled  and  lifted  and  puffed,  and  finally 
it  was  done,  and  father  gave  me  the  bright  silver  dol- 
lar, saying: 

" '  That's  right,  James ;  you  did  it  splendidly,  and 
now  I  find  you  can  do  it  so  nicely,  I  shall  have  you 
do  it  every  morning  all  winter' " 


94 


CHARITY. 

ONE  day  a  poor,  plain,  blunt  man  stumbled  into 
Fisk's  room.  Said  he  : 

"  Colonel,  I've  heard  you  are  a  generous  man,  and 
I've  come  to  ask  a  great  favor." 

"Well,  what  is  it,  my  good  man?"  asked  Fisk. 

"  I  want  to  go  to  Lowell,  sir,  to  my  wife,  and  I 
haven't  a  cent  of  money  in  the  world,"  said  the  man, 
in  a  firm,  manly  voice. 

"Where  have  you  been?"  asked  the  Colonel,  drop- 
ping his  pen. 

"I  don't  want  to  tell  you,"  replied  the  man,  drop- 
ping his  head. 

"Out  with  it,  my  man,  where  have  you  been?"  said 
Fisk. 

"Well,  sir,  I've  been  to  Sing  Sing  State  Prison." 

"What  for?" 

"  Grand  larceny,  sir.  I  was  put  in  for  five  years, 
but  was  pardoned  -out  yesterday,  after  staying  four 
years  and  one-half.  I  am  here,  hungry  and  without 
money." 

"All  right,  my  man,"  said  Fisk,  kindly,  "you  shall 
have  a  pass,  and  here — here  is  $5.  Go  and  get  a  meal 
of  victuals,  and  then  ride  down  to  the  boat  in  an  Erie 
coach,  like  a  gentleman.  Commence  life  again,  and  if 
you  are  honest  and  want  a  lift  come  to  me." 

Perfectly  bewildered,  the"  poor  convict  took  the 
money,  and  six  months  afterward  Fisk  got  a  letter 
from  him.  He  was  doing  a  thriving  mercantile  busi- 
ness, and  said  Fisk's  kindness  and  cheering  words  gave 


95 

him  the  first  hope — his  first  strong  resolve  to  become 
a  man. 

BLACK    AND    WHITE. 

TEN  minutes  after  the  poor  convict  left,  a  poor 
young  negro  preacher  called. 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  Are  you  from  Sing  Sing, 
too?"  asked  Fisk. 

"No,  sir;  I'm  a  Baptist  preacher  from  Hoboken.  I 
want  to  go  to  the  Howard  Seminary  in  Washington," 
said  the  negro. 

"All  right,  Brother  Johnson,"  said  Fisk.  "Here, 
Comer,"  he  said,  addressing  his  secretary,  "  give  Broth- 
er Johnson  $20,  and  charge  it  to  Charity,"  and  the 
Colonel  went  on  writing,  without  listening  to  the  stream 
of  thanks  from  the  delighted  negro. 

DON'T  COUNT  CHARITY. 

ONE  day  the  Colonel  was  walking  up  Twenty-third 
street  to  dine  with  one  of  the  Erie  directors,  when  a 
poor  beggar  came  along.  The  beggar  followed  after 
them,  saying,  in  a  plaintive  tone,  "  Please  give  me  a 
dime,  gentlemen  ?" 

The  gentleman  accompanying  Fisk  took  out  a  roll  of 
bills  and  commenced  to  unroll  them,  thinking  to  find 
a  half  or  a  quarter. 

"Here,  man!"  said  Fisk,  seizing  the  whole  roll  and 
throwing  it  on  the  sidewalk,  "take  the  pile." 

Then  looking  into  the  blank  face  of  his  friend,  he 
said,  "  Thunderation,  Sam,  you  never  count  charity, 
do  you!" 


"  But,  great  guns,  Colonel,  there  was  $20  in  that 
roll,"  exclaimed  the  astonished  gentleman. 

"Never  mind,"  said  Fisk,  "then  I'll  stand  the  sup- 
per to-night." 

GRAVEYARD    FENCE. 

SOMEBODY  in  Brattleboro  came  down  to  New  York 
to  ask  Fisk  for  a  donation  to  help  them  build  a  new 
fence  around  the  graveyard  where  he  is  now  buried. 

"What  in  thunder  do  you  want  a  new  fence  for?" 
exclaimed  the  Colonel.  "Why,  that  old  fence  will 
keep  the  dead  people  in,  and  live  people  will  keep  out 
as  long  as  they  can,  any  way!" 

FISK'S    LAST    JOKE. 

THE  day  before  Fisk  was  shot  he  came  into  the 
office,  and  after  looking  over  some  interest  account,  he 
shouted,  "  Gould  !  Gould  !" 

"Well,  what?"  says  Gould,  stroking  his  jetty 
whiskers. 

"  I  want  to  know  how  you  go  to  work  to  figure 
this  interest  so  that  it  amounts  to  more  than  the 
principal  ?"  said  the  Colonel. 


MISERABLE    FISK.' 

WHAT  a  miserable  reprobate  the  preachers  all  make 
Fisk  out  to  be !  And  they  are  right.  Why,  the 
scoundrel  actually  stopped  his  coupJ.  one  cold,  dreary 
night  on  Seventh  avenue,  and  got  out,  inquired  where 
she  lived,  and  gave  a  poor  old  beggar  woman  a  dollar ! 


97 

He  seemed  to  have  no  shame  about  him,  for  the 
next  day  the  debauched  wretch  sent  her  around  a 
barrel  of  flour  and  a  load  of  coal.  One  day  the 
black-hearted  scoundrel  sent  ten  dollars  and  a  bag  of 
flour  around  to  a  widow  woman  with  three  starviifg 
children;  and,  not  content  with  this,  the  remorseless 
wretch  told  the  police  captain  to  look  after  all  the 
poor  widows  and  orphans  in  his  ward  and  .  send  them 
to  him  when  they  deserved  charity.  What  a  shameless 
performance  it  was  to  give  that  poor  negro  preacher 
$20  and  send  him  on  to  Howard  "University !  And 
how  the  black-hearted  villain  practiced  his  meanness 
on  the  poor,  penniless  old  woman  who  wanted  to  go 
to  Boston,  by  paying  her  passage  and  actually  escort- 
ing her  to  a  free  state-room,  while  the  old  woman's 
tears  of  gratitude  were  streaming  down  her  cheeks! 
Oh !  insatiate  monster !  thus  to  give  money  to  penni- 
less negro  preachers  and  starving  women  and  chil- 
dren! 


REV.    ELI    PERKINS. 


THE  other  evening,  at  the 
Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  after  being 
sworn  in  to  preach  the  gospel 
of  Fifth  Avenue  as  I  under- 
stood it,  I  arose,  took  off 
my  brown  linen  duster,  and 
said: 

My  dear  sisters  : 

The  stanza — 
"  I  want  to  be  an  angel," 
which  you  have  just 
sung  will  not  help 
you  much  unless  you 
change  your  course  of  " ANGELS  DON'T  WEAR  PEARL  POWDER  " 
life.  You  must  commence  dressing  more  like  angels 
here  in  this  world  if  you  want  to  be  a  real  live  angel 
in  the  next.  You'd  make  healthy  lookin'  angels, 
wouldn't  you?  Now,  wouldn't  you?  Angels  don't 
wear  pearl  powder,  do  they  ?  and  angels  don't  wear 
false  braids.  They  don't  enamel  their  faces  and  smell 
of  Caswell  and  Hazard's  cologne,  nor  bore  holes  in 
their  ears  like  Injuns  and  put  Tiffany's  ear-rings  in 
them !  Angels  don't  dye  their  hair,  nor  wear  big  dia- 
monds, and  have  liveries  and  footmen,  like  many  of 
our  "  shoddy  "  people.  They 


99 

"But  how  can  we  tell  'shoddy'  people,  Uncle  Eli?" 
interrupted  several  young  ladies  in  the  congregation. 

This  way,  my  friends,  I  said:  When  a  strange  family 
arrives  at  our  hotel,  you  must  watch  them  closely. 
Divinity  puts  up  certain  infallible  signs  to  distinguish 
the  ignorant  and  vulgar  from  the  children  of  culture 
and  virtue. 

1.  If  a  lady  comes   into  the  parlor  with  a  diamond 
ring  on  the  outside  of  her  glove,  it  is  safe  to  ask  her 
how  much  she  gets  a  week.     ["  Hear,  hear !"  and  sev- 
eral ladies  put  their  hands  under  their  paniers.] 

2.  If  Providence   erects   a  dyed   mustache   over  the 
mouth  of  a  man,  it  is  to    show  that   he  is  a  gambler 
or   a   vulgarian.       [Cheers,    when    two    Americus    Club 
men,  a   gambler,  and  four  plug-uglies   from  Baltimore, 
put  their  hands  over  their  mustaches.] 

3.  If,  when  that  new  family  enter  or  leave  the  dining- 
room  or  parlor,  the  gentlemen   rush  ahead,  leaving  the 
ladies   to  follow,  there    is    something  "  shoddy "  some- 
where. 

4.  If  the  man  presents  the  ladies  to   the  gentlemen; 
instead  of  vice  versa,  and    they  all  shake  hands  on  first 
presentation,  then  you  may  know  they  hail  from  Oil  City. 

5.  If,  when  they  go  in  to  dinner,  they  do  nothing  but 
loudly  order  the   waiters    around,  and    talk   about   the 
wine,  you  can   make  up  your  mind  they  are  the  first 
waiters  they  ever  had  and  that  is  the  only  wine  they 
ever  drank.     If  they  pick  their  teeth   at  the  table,  or 
take  out  their  false  teeth  and  rinse  them  in  the  tumbler 
[A  voice — "  Shoot  them  on  the  spot !"] — yes,  my  friends, 
I  say  that  to  their  teeth. 


100      t 

6.  If,  when  a  gentleman  sits  in  the  parlor  talking  to 
a  lady,  he  doesn't  sit  up  straight,  but  sprawls  all  over 
the  sofa,  puts  the  soles  of  his  boots  on  the  lady's  dress, 
on  the  furniture,  or  wipes  his  shoes  on  his  own  white 
linen  pantaloons,   you'd   better  refuse   an    introduction 
to  him.     [Applause,  when  eight  young  fellows,  who  sat 
with  their  legs  radiating  like  the  wings  of  a  windmill, 
or  sprawling   one   foot   cross-legged    in  the   empty  air, 
whirled  themselves  right  side  up.] 

7.  If  the  ladies  in  that  party  whitewash   their  faces, 
redden  their  lips,  blacken  their  eyebrows,  or  bronze  or 
yellow  their   hair,  just  you   think  this   is   another  sign 
which    Providence    puts    up    so,  you    can    shun    them. 
Enamel  and  hair-dye  are  socjal  beacon-lights,  to  enable 
you  to  keep  off  the  rocks  of  Cypria.     Just  you   keep 
away  from  such  people,  for  they  are  wolves  in  sheep's 
clothing. 

Voice  from  a  young  lady — "But  we  Want  to  look 
beautiful,  Mr.  Perkins." 

But  this  will  not  make  you  beautiful,  my  children. 
Any  sweetheart  who  is  so  shallow  as  to  take  whitewash 
for  the  human  skin,  or  rouge  for  the  rose-cheeks  of 
nature,  is  too  much  of  a  sap-head  to  make  a  good 
husband;  and  if  he  is  smart  enough  to  see  through 
your  deception — why,  he  will  surely  leave  you  in  dis- 
gust. [Applause  by  the  gentlemen,  while  several  ladies 
wiped  their  faces  with  their  pocket-handkerchiefs.] 

8.  If,  when  this  family  get  into  their  carriage  to  ride 
around  the   Park,   the   young   ladies   appear  in    gaudy 
colors,  throw  over  their  laps   a  bright  yellow  and  red 
or  blue  afghan,  and  the  coachman  wears  a  gold  hat- 


101 

band,  and  a  sprawl-tailed  yellow  livery,  with  velvet 
collar,  and  holds  brass-bespangled  horses  with  white 
reins,  you  may  know  that,  the  owner  keeps  a  livery 
stable  and  that  this  is  his  first  carriage. 

9.  It  is  considered  the  height  of  impoliteness  to 
criticise  persons  to  their  faces,  and  still  many  vulga- 
rians try  to  make  polite  reputations  by  picking  up  other 
people,  when  the  correction  is  ten  times  a  more  flagrant 
breach  of  etiquette  than  the  original  mistake.  I  have 
seen  plebeians  who,  if  a  man  by  design  chose  to  eat 
the  fine  ends  of  his  asparagus  with  a  knife,  would  call 
his  attention  to  the  error — thus  straining  at  a  doubtful 
gnat  of  custom  and  swallowing  a  camel  of  impolite- 
ness. Politeness  is  to  do  as  you  would  be  done  by, 
and  anything  you  do,  if  you  wish  to  be  polite,  must 
be  tried  by  this  golden  rule. 

In  conclusion,  my  dear  brothers  and  sisters,  I  will 
say  that  politeness  does  not  depend  upon  eating  peas 
with  a  fork,  but  it  rests  on  the  grander  and  broader 
basis  of  love  for  your  fellow-man. 

How  is  your  mother,  Johnny? 

"Oh,  she's  dead,  I  thank  you!"  is  a  silly  drop  of 
Mrs.  Potiphar  politeness,  which  looks  sick  beside  the 
big  ocean  of  manly  generosity  which  comes  out  of  the 
Pike's  Peak,  "Come  up,  old  boy,  and  liquor,  or  fight!" 

There  being  several  Members  of  Congress  present, 
Dr.  Chapin  now  lined  the  hymn — 

"  I  love  to  steal  a  while," 

and  the  congregation,  like  a  man  with  a  poor  hand  at 
euchre,  passed  out. 


A   SAD    MAN. 


"ERIE  DOWN?" 


COMING  up  from  Broad  Street  in 
the  cars  yesterday  I  met  a  poor  dis- 
consolate Wall  Street  broker.  His 
heart  seemed  broken  and  his  face 
was  the  picture  of  despair.  I  had 
been  usher  at  his  wedding  a  few 
months  before,  when  he  seemed  the 
picture  of  happiness ;  so,  smiling,  I 
asked : 

"  Why,  Charles,  what  has  happened ;  what  makes  you 
look  so  sad?" 

"  Oh,  Eli!"  he  sighed,  "  I  am  all  broken  up.     I  have 
met  with  a  dreadful  misfortune." 

"What  is  it,  Charley?"  I  asked  sympathetically. 
"  Ohoooo,  dear  Eli,  I  cannot — cannot  tell  you,"  and 
then  he  sobbed  again,  "Ohhooooo!" 

"  But   what  is  it,  Charley  ?      Perhaps  I  can  comfort 
you." 

"  No,  Eli.     I  am  so  discouraged  I  want  to  die." 
"Are  you  ruined,  Charley?  is  your  money  all  gone?" 
"  Oh,  no,  Eli,  not  so  bad  as  that ;  but  Nellie,  my  dear 
wife,  is  dead,"  and  then  he  broke  down  again. 

"  Cheer   up,   Charley,   there  may  be  some  happiness 
left  yet.     Do  not  die  now,"  I  said. 

"  No,  Eli,  I  am  all  broken  up — ruined  !     I  don't  take 

103 


103 

any  interest  in  anything  now.  My  mind  is  constantly 
with  my  poor,  angel  wife.  I  dream  of  her  all  the  time 
— in  the  morning  and  at  night,  and — by  the  way,  Eli, 
how  did  you  say  Erie  closed  to-night?" 

"  Erie  is  down  and  they  are  '  all  off,'  Charley." 

"  Well,  that's  cheering,"  he  sobbed,  "  for  when  I  got 
*  short'  of  Nellie,  I  went  'short 'of  the  whole  market, 
and  it's  very  consoling  in  my  grief  to  find  things  look- 
ing so  cheerful  on  the  street.  And  what  did  you  say 
about  Pacific  Mail,  Eli  ?" 

"  Flat  as  a  flounder.  The  bears  have  got  the  whole 
market,  Charley." 

"Well,  that's  cheering,  too,  Eli.  That  is  indeed 
cheering,  to  think  my  losses  are  compensated  —  that 
when  the  angels  had  a  '  call '  on  Nellie  I  should  have 
a 'put'  on  Uncle  Daniel  Drew.  It  is  so  consoling  to 
be  able  to  *  cover '  your  losses,  you  know.  Oh,  Nellie 
was  such  a  comfort  to  me !  but  we  can't  have  every- 
thing in  this  world,  Eli.  We  can't  always  have  the 
whole  market  our  own  way.  If  we  take  our  profits,  we 
must  bear  our  losses.  Now  let  us  have  a  little  of  Jules 
Mumm's  extra  dry,  to  drink  to  the  memory  of  my 
poor  dead — goodness!  Eli,  I'll  make  $5,000  on  that 
Erie  'put'  as  easy  's  drinkin  a  sherry  cobbler!" 


A  QUEER   MAN. 


ONE  day,  as  the  Kansas  Pacific  train  neared  Topeka, 
I  sat  down  by  an  old  farmer  from  Lawrence.  Corn 
bins  lined  the  road,  and  millions  of  bushels  of  corn 
greeted  us  from  the  car  windows.  Sometimes  the  bins 
full  of  golden  grain  followed  the  track  like  a  huge 
yellow  serpent. 

Looking  up  at  the  old  granger,  I  asked  him  where 
all  this  corn  came  from.  "Do  you  ship  it  from  New 
York,  sir?" 

"From  what?"  he  said. 

"  From  New  York,  sir." 

"What,  corn  from  New  York!" 

"Yes,  sir,"  I  said.  "Did  you  import  it  from  New 
York,  or  did  you  ship  it  from  England?" 

He  looked  at  me  from  head  to  foot,  examined  my 
coat,  looked  at  my  ears,  and  then  exclaimed, 

"Great  God!" 

I  never  heard  those  two  words  sound  so  like  "  darned 
fool  "  before. 

A  moment  afterwards  the  old  farmer  turned  his  eyes 
pityingly  upon  me  and  asked  me  where  I  lived. 

"I  live  in  New  York,  sir." 

"Whar?" 

"In  New  York,  sir.     I  came  West  to  lecture." 

104 


105 


"What,  you  lecture?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"You!" 

UI  do." 

"You  lecture!  you  do?  Well,  I'd 
give  ten  dollars  to  hear  you  lecture." 

I  never  knew  whether  this  was  a 
great  compliment,  or — well,  or  what  it 
was. 


"WHAT,  YOU  LECT- 
URE?" 


ELI'S    HAPPY    THOUGHTS. 


I  SAW  a  man  pulling  his 
arms  off  trying  to  get  on  a 
new  pair  of  boots,  so  I 
said : 

Happy  Thought  —  They 
are  too  small,  my  man,  and 
you  will  never  be  able  to 
get  them  on  till  you  have 
worn  them  a  spell ! 


I  heard  an  officer  in  the 
Seventh  Regiment  scolding 
a  private  for  coming  too 
late  to  drill,  so  I  said : 

Happy  Thought — Somebody  must  always  come  last; 
this  fellow  ought  to  be  praised,  Captain,  for,  if  he  had 
come  earlier,  he  would  have  shirked  this  scolding  off 
upon  somebody  else ! 


I  saw  an  old  maid  at  the  Fifth  Avenue,  with  her 
face  covered  with  wrinkles,  turning  sadly  away  from 
the  mirror,  as  she  said : 

Happy  Thought — rMirrors  nowadays  are  very  faulty, 
Uncle  Eli.  They  don't  make -such  nice  mirrors  as 
they  used  to  when  I  was  young ! 

106 


107 

I  heard  a  young  lady  from  Brooklyn  praising  the 
sun,  so  I  said : 

Happy  Thought — The  sun  may  be  very  good,  Miss 
Mead,  but  the  moon  is  a  good  deal  better;  for  she 
gives  us  light  in  the  night  when  we  need  it,  while  the 
sun  only  shines  in  the  day  time,  when  it  is  light 
enough  without  it! 

I  saw  a  man  shoot  an  eagle,  and  as  he  dropped  on 
the  ground  I  said : 

Happy  Thought — You  might  have  saved  your  pow- 
der, my  man,  for  the  fall  alone  would  have  killed  him. 


An  old  man  in  Philadelphia  brought  a  blooming  girl 
to  church,  to  be  married  to  her.  The  minister  stepped 
behind  the  baptismal  font  and  said,  as  he  sprinkled 
water  over  her  head — 

Happy  Thought — I  am  glad  you  brought  the  dear 
child  to  be  baptized ! 


A  young  man  was  disappointed  in  love  at  Niagara 
Falls,  so  he  went  out  on  a  terrible  precipice,  took  off 
his  clothes,  cast  one  long  look  into  the  fearful  whirl- 
pool, and  then — 

Happy  Thought — Went  home  and  went  to  bed! 


Two  Mississippi  River  darkies  saw,  for  the  first  time, 
a  train  of  cars.  They  were  in  a  quandary  to  know  what 
kind  of  a  monster  it  was,  so  one  said: 

Happy  Thought — Oh,  Sambo!  it  is  a  dried  up  steam- 
boat getting  back  into  the  river! 


108 

A  poor  sick  man,  with  a  mustard  plaster  on  him, 
said: 

Happy  Thought — If  I  should  eat  a  loaf  of  bread  I'd 
be  a  live  sandwich! 


As  a  man  was  burying  his  wife  he  said  to  his  friend, 
in  the  graveyard :  Alas  !  you  feel  happier  than  I.  Yes, 
neighbor,  said  the  friend: 

Happy  Thought — I  ought  to  feel  happier,  I  have  two 
wives  buried  here ! 


A  man  out  west  turned  State's  evidence  and  swore 
he  was  a  member  of  a  gang  of  thieves.  By  and  by 
they  found  the  roll  of  actual  members,  and  accused 
the  man  of  swearing  falsely.  I  was  a  member,  said  the 
man ;  I 

Happy   Thought-—},  was  an  honorary  member! 


THE    LEGAL-MINDED    MAN. 


THE  other  night,  I  met -a  young  Columbia  College 
law  student  at  a  party.  He  was  dancing  with  Miss 
Johnson. 

"  I  have  an  engagement  to  dance  the  *  Railroad 
Galop  '  with  Miss  Johnson,"  I  remarked — "  number 
ten." 

"You  have  an  engagement?  You  mean  you  have 
retained  her  for  a  dance?" 

"She  has  contracted  to  dance  with  me,"  I  said. 

"  But  contracts  where  no  earnest  money  is  paid  are 
null  and  void.  You  must  vacate  the  premises." 

"  But  will  you  please  give  me  half  of  a  dance  ?  I 
ask  the  courtesy." 

"Why,  yes,  Mr.  Perkins,"  he  said;  "take  her;"  but, 
recollecting  his  law  knowledge,  he  caught  hold  of  my 
coat-sleeve  and  added  this  casual  remark : 

"  I  give  and  bequeath  to  you,  Mr;  Eli  Perkins,  tq 
have  and  to  hold  in  trust,  one  half  of  my  right,  title 
and  claim  and  my  advantage,  in  a  dance  known  as  the 
1  Railroad  Galop '  with  Amelia  Johnson,  with  all  her 
hair,  paniers,  Grecian  bend,  rings,  fans,  belts,  hair-pins, 
smelling-bottles  and  straps,  with  all  the  right  and  ad- 
vantage therein  ;  with  full  power  to  have,  hold,  encircle, 
whirl,  toss,  wiggle,  push,  jam,  squeeze,  or  otherwise  use 
— except  to  smash,  break  or  otherwise  damage — and 

109 


110 

with  right  to  temporarily  convey  the  said  Amelia  John- 
son, her  hair,  rings,  paniers,  straps,  and  other  objects 
heretofore  or  hereinafter  mentioned,  after  such  whirl, 
squeeze,  wiggle,  jam,  etc.,  to  her  natural  parents,  now 
living,  and  without  regard  to  any  deed  or  deeds  or  in- 
struments, of  whatever  kind  or  nature  soever,  to  the 
contrary  in  anywise  notwithstanding." 

The  next  evening,  the  young  lawyer  called  on  Miss 
Johnson,  with  whom  he  was  in  love,  and  proposed. 

"  I  have  an  attachment  for  you,  Miss  Johnson,"  he 
commenced. 

"Very  well,  sir;  levy  on  the  furniture,"  said  Miss 
Johnson,  indignantly. 

"  I  mean,  Miss  Johnson,  there  is  a  bond — a  mutual 
bond " 

"  Never  mind  the  bond ;  take  the  furniture,  I  say. 
Take " 

"  You  do  not  understand  me,  madam.  I  came  here 
to  court " 

"But  this  js  no  court,  sir.     There  is  no  officer." 

"  Yes,  Miss  Johnson,  your  father  said  this  morning  : 
4  Mr.  Mason,  I  look  upon  your  offer,  sir,  with  favor/  " 

"Your  officer?" 

"  My  offer,  madame — my  offer  of  marriage.  I  love 
you.  I  adore " 

"Goodness  gracious!"  and  Miss  Johnson  fell  faint- 
ing to  the  floor. 


A  GRATEFUL  MAN. 


ONE  day  one 
of  the  James 
Brothers,  the 
famous  bandits, 
who  have  filled 
Missouri  with 
terror  for  years, 
rode  into  Kansas 
City  during  the 
State  Fair. 
Though  a  price  was  set  upon 
his  head  by  the  Governor,  and  a  half 
dozen  of  Pinkerton's  men  had  "bit  the 
dust "  hunting  him  down,  this  brave 
bandit  passed  on  through  the  town  in 
open  daylight  to  the  place  where  they 
were  holding  the  State  Fair.  Then, 
quietly  riding  through  twenty  thousand  people,  he 
walked  his  horse  straight  up  to  the  treasurer's  stand 
seized  the  cash-box  with  three  thousand  dollars  in 
ft,  and  rode  quietly  away.  It  was  a  Claude  Duval 
adventure — a  wild,  devil- dare  deed.  All  Kansas  City 
was  filled  with  amazement.  The  newspapers  foamed 
and^  fretted  about  it,  the  Governor  proclamated,  and 
the  mayor  offered  rewards,  but  all  to  no  avail.  The 
money  nor  the  man  ever  came  back  again.  Among 

in 


112 

the  newspapers  which  were  abusing  the  James  Brothers, 
was  the  Kansas  City  Times,  but  one  day  the  Times 
said: 

"  It  may  have  been  robbery,  but  it  was  a  plucky,  brave  act — 
an  act  which  we  can  but  admire  for  its  splendid  daring  and  cool, 
calculating  bravado." 

A  week  after  this  article  praising  the  James  Boy's 
pluck  and  daring  appeared  in  the  Times,  two  horsemen 
rode  up  to  the  Times  office  at  eleven  o'clock  at  night. 
Calling  a  watchman,  they  asked  him  to  tell  the  editor 
to  please  come  out. 

"  Tell  him  somebody  wants  to  thank  him,"  they 
said. 

When  the  editor  came  out  on  the  sidewalk  one  of 
the  horsemen  beckoned  him  up  close  to  his  horse, 
and  said,  in  an  undertone : 

"  My  friend,  you  said  a  good  thing  about  me  the 
other  day.  You  said  I  was  brave,  even  if  I  was  a 
robber.  You  spoke  kindly  of  me.  It  was  the  first 
kind  word  I  ever  had  said  about  me,  and  it  touched 
my  heart,  and  I've  come  to  thank  you." 

"But  who  are  you,  gentlemen?  I  am  not  aware  to 
whom  I  am  talking,"  said  the  astonished  editor. 

"Well,  sir,  our  name  is  James.  We  are  the  James 
Brothers " 

"For  God's  sake,  don't  kill  me!"  gasped  the  fright- 
ened editor,  almost  sinking  in  his  shoes.  "I  haven't 
harmed  you.  I " 

"  No,  you  haven't  harmed  us.  You  spoke  kindly 
about  us,  and  we  came  to  thank  you.  Not  only  that, 
but  we  have  come  to  present  you  this  watch  as  a  token 


113 

of  our  gratitude,"  and  the  robber  handed  out  a 
beautiful  gold  hunting  case  chronometer. 

"But  I  can't  take  the  watch,"  remonstrated  the 
editor. 

"You  must,"  replied  the  robber.  "We  bought  it 
for  you  in  St.  Louis.  We  didn't  steal  this  watch. 
Your  name  is  engraved  in  it.  See!"  and  he  held  it 
up  before  the  street  lamp. 

•'  No,  I  cannot  take  it,  I  cannot,"  replied  the  man, 
newspaper-man-like,  unable  under  any  circumstances  to 
take  a  seeming  bribe. 

"But   you   must.     We    insist." 

"You  will  have  to  excuse  me,  gentlemen,"  pleaded 
the  honest  editor,  "for  I  tell  you,  gentlemen,  I  can- 
not !" 

"  And  you  will  take  nothing  from  us  ?" 

"Nothing  at  all." 

"  Then,  if  you  can't  take  anything  from  us — not 
even  this  watch,"  said  the  bandit,  sorrowfully  return- 
ing it  to  his  pocket — "  if  you  won't  take  anything  for 
our  gratitude,  perhaps  you  can  name  some  man  around 
here  you  want  killed!" 


A   CONSISTENT    MAN. 


I  MET  a  Californian  to-day  who  says  he  don't  be- 
lieve Chinamen  have  ordinary  common  sense. 

"  They  haven't  ordinary  sagacity,  Uncle  Eli,"  he  said. 
,  "Why?"  I  asked. 

"Because,"  said  he,  growing  excited  about  it,  "be- 
cause— b-e-c-a-u-s-e  they  haven't." 

"But  why?"  I  asked.  "  I  want  to  know  an  instance 
where  a  Chinaman  has  ever  shown  himself  to  be  a 
darned  fool." 

"Why,  Eli,  I've  known  a  Chinaman  to  secrete  two 
aces  in  his  sleeves,  and  when  I've  played  the  three 
aces  I  had  secreted  in  my  sleeves,  why,  there'd  be 
five  aces  out!  How  absurd!" 

"Yes,  that  was  very  foolish  for  the  Chinaman,  but 
what  other  cases  of  foolishness  have  you  seen  among 
the  Chinamen?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  it  was  only  the  day  before  I  left  'Frisco,  Mr. 
Perkins,-  that  we  put  some  tar  and  feathers  on  one  of 
them  Johnnys,  just  to  have  a  little  fun,  and  then  set 
fire  to  it  to  amuse  the  children,  and  the  darned  fool 
ran  into  a  clothes-press  and  spoiled  a  dozen  of  my 
wife's  dresses  putting  out  the  fire,  though  I  told  him 
better  all  the  time.  Dog-on-it,  it  is  enough  to  make 
a  man  lose  faith  in  the  whole  race!" 

And  then  that  good  Californian  threw  a  colored 
waiter  out  of  a  fourth  story  window  and  went  on  cut- 
ting off  his  coupons. 

114 


THE   DANCING   MANIA. 


ROUND   DANCES. 


IF  you  see  a  two-hundred  pound 
man  and  woman  perspiring  around 
with  their  pompous  bodies  tossing 
lightly  and  springily  in  the  air,  arms 
swaying  —  keeping  good  time,  and 
making  grand  Persian  salaams  for  a 
bow  in  the  Lancers,  you  can  set 
them  down  as  belonging  to  the  old 
Tweed-Fisk-Leland-Americus  Club 
school. 

If  you  see  two  heated  young  people  tripping  fast 
away  ahead  of  the  music,  taking  short  steps,  and  jerk- 
ing through  a  square  dance  as  if  the  house  was  on 
fire  and  the  set  must  be  completed  before  any  could 
take  to  the  fire-escapes,  you  can  set  them  down  as  from 
the  plantation  districts  of  the  South,  or  the  rural  dis- 
tricts of  Pennsylvania  and  the  West.  It  is  the  Missis- 
sippi River  steamboat  quickstep. 

If  you  see  a  black-eyed  youth  with  long  hair  and  a 
young  lady  with  liquid  black  eyes,  and  she  has  her  two 
hands  on  the  young  man's  shoulders  at  full  length,  and 
stands  directly  in  front  of  him,  and  they  both  go  hop- 
ping around  like  Siamese  twins  with  wire  springs  under 
them,  you  can  wager  they  are  from  Louisville,  Memphis, 

115 


116 

or  Little  Rock.  They  have  the  square-hold  wrestling 
step. 

If  you  see  a  young  fellow  grasp  a  young  lady  firmly 
around  the  waist,  seize  her  wrists,  stick  her  hand  out 
like  the  bowsprit  of  a  Sound  yacht,  and  both  hump  up 
their  backs  like  a  pair  of  mad  cats  on  a  door-yard  fence, 
and  then  go  sliding  slam  bang  against  people,  over 
people,  through  people,  up  and  down  the  room,  side- 
ways, backwards,  and  up  and  down  like  a  saw-mill  gate, 
you  can  be  sure  they  are  directly  from  Chicago,  or  from 
the  region  of  Milwaukee  or  Detroit. 

If  you  see  a  couple  gliding  gently,  slowly,  and  lazily 
through  the  Lancers — just  half  as  fast  as  the  time,  but 
keeping  step  with  the  music — quietly  sauntering  through 
the  "  Grand  Chain,"  too  languid  to  whirl  partners,  talk- 
ing sweetly  all  the  time,  as  if  they  were  strolling  in  a 
graveyard,  you  can  rest  assured  that  they  are  from  New 
York,  and  from  the  most  fashionable  section  between 
Madison  Square  and  the  Park.  This  is  the  churchyard- 
saunter  step. 

If  you  see  a  fellow  clasp  a  girl  meltingly  in  his  arms, 
squeeze  her  hand  warmly,  hold  her  swelling  breast  to 
his,  and  they  both  go  floating  down  the  room  locked  in 
each  other's  embrace,  looking  like  one  person,  his  feet 
only  now  and  then  protruding  from  a  profusion  of  illu- 
sion and  lace  and  so  on,  rely  upon  it  you  can  set  the 
two  down  as  belonging  to  the  intense  Boston  school. 
It  is  the  melting  Harvard  College  embrace. 

Massachusetts,  take  our  hat! 


THE    MILITARY    MAN. 


THE  other  day,  I  took  a  couple  of  "  swell "  young 
ladies  up  to  the  West  Point  Military  Ball.  Miss  Grace 
Vanderbilt  and  Miss  Mary  Astor,  Jack  Astor's  sister, 
were  their  names,  and  their  dresses  cost  $500  apiece — 
awfully  "  swell  "  girls. 

I  had  a  hard  time  chaperoning  these  two  pretty  girls. 
The  cadets  would  get  them  away  from  me  at  every 
corner.  I  couldn't  keep  my  eyes  on  them  any  more 
than  I  could  have  kept  them  on  a  dozen  velocipedes  in 
a  circus  tent.  Finally  I  lost  sight  of  Grace  and  Mary 
altogether.  They  disappeared  in  the  mazes  of  the 
dance  like  small  boats  in  a  fog.  Now  and  then  I  would, 
see  them  waltzing  toward  me,  and  then  before  I  could 
speak  to  them  their  long  trains  would  hop  around  and 
wriggle  out  of  sight.  In  vain  —  loaded  down  with 
camel's  hairs  and  opera-cloaks — I  searched  for  them 
through  the  reception-rooms  and  along  the  flag-draped 
corridors.  At  length  I  found  Grace  dancing  the  Ger- 
man three  blocks  from  the  main  ball-room,  while  Mary 
was  flirting  desperately  with  a  cadet  graduate  in  the 
rooms  of  the  Spoonological  Museum.  That  is  what 
they  call  the  Natural  History  rooms,  into  which  steal 
flirting  cadets  and  sentimental  young  ladies,  where  they 
can  listen  to  the  oft-repeated  tales  of  love  and  hope. 
Here  in  the  half-light  the  cadet,  with  one  hand  on  a 

117 


118 

cannon  and  the  other  on  a  bunch  of  Indian  arrows  or 
the  jawbone  of  a  whale,  will  tell  the  unsuspecting 
young  lady  how  he  loves  her  better  than  war  or  gun- 
powder or  geometry.  And  all  the  time  Mary's  unsus- 
pecting mamma  imagines  her  beautiful  daughter  to  be 
innocently  walking  backwards  and  forwards  in  the 
Lancers. 

"  What  was  Cadet  Mason  saying  to  you  in  the 
Spoonological  Museum  by  the  Rodman  gun,  Mary?" 
I  asked,  as  we  came  back  from  the  Point  on  the 
Chauncey  Vibbard. 

"Well,  he  talked  very  interesting — he  —  proposed," 
replied  Miss  Mary,  blushing. 

"  How  proposed  ?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  he  said  he  loved  me  and  wanted  me  to  be 
engaged  to  him." 

"And  you ?" 

"Why,  I  told  him  to  ask  father,  and " 

"And  he ?" 

"Why,  he  said  he  wasn't  really  in  earnest.  He 
0/tozed,  and  said  he  didn't  really  mean  anything  seri- 
ous. Then  he  took  my  hand  and  said,  *  Why,  really, 
Miss  Astor,  I  don't  want  to  ask  your  papa.' 

"  '  What  do  you  mean  then,  Mr.  Mason  ?'  I  asked. 

" '  Why,  Miss  Astor,'  he  said,  '  I  only  meant  to  ex- 
tend to  you  the  regular  and  customary  courtesies  of 
the  Point !' 

"The  miserable,  flirting  cadet!"  And  Miss  Mary's 
eyes  flashed  as  she  said  it. 


THE    HORSE    MAN. 

ONE  morning  the  Rev.  Dr.  Corey,  my  uncle  Con- 
sider, and  another  good  old  Baptist  minister,  were 
sitting  on  the  balcony  in  Saratoga,  talking  theology. 

Dr.  Corey,  who  always  has  an  eye  for  a  nice  horse, 
was  watching  a  couple  of  spans  of  trotting  horses  while 
his  brother  minister  was  moralizing  over  the  sins  of 
this  gay  and  fashionable  world. 

"  Alas,  these  are  degenerate  days,  Dr.  Corey !  very 
fast  days!"  sighed  Dr.  Deems  as  he  bowed  his  head 
and  looked  at  a  tract  which  he  held  in  his  hand. 

"Yes,  pretty  fast,  Dr.  Deems — fast  for  such  young 
horses  and  such  a  heavy  road,"  replied  Dr.  Corey, 
whose  worldly  eyes  were  on  the  horses. 

Just  as  two  spans  danced  by  with  light  Brewster 
buggies,  followed  by  the  swellest  dog-cart  tandem  in 
Saratoga,  Dr.  Deems  heaved  a  sigh  and  remarked 
again, 

"  Yes,  brother  Corey,  alas !  we  live  in  a  very  fast 
age." 

"Very  fast,  brother  Deems,"  replied  Dr.. Corey,  taking 
off  his  eye-glasses,  "very  f-a-s-t,  but  I'll  bet  ten  dollars 
that  I've  got  a  span  of  fast  mares  in  New  York  that 
can  'dust'  anything  you  see  here,  except  the  Commo- 
dore's!" 

Brother  Deems  merely  dropped  his  head  upon  his 
hands,  and  drew  a  sigh  which  could  come  only  from 
a  crushed  and  broken  heart. 

119 


THE    PIOUS   MAN. 


A  PIOUS  old  Kentucky  deacon — Deacon  Shelby — 
was  famous  as  a  shiewd  horse  dealer.  One  day  farmer 
Jones  went  over  to  Bourbon  County,  taking  his  black 
boy  Jim  with  him,  to  trade  horses  with  brother  Shelby. 
After  a  good  deal  of  dickering,  they  finally  made  the 
trade,  and  Jim  rode  the  new  horse  home. 

"Whose  horse  is  that,  Jim?"  asked  some  of  the 
horse-trading  deacon's  neighbors  as  Jim  rode  past. 

"Massa  Jones's,  sah." 

"What!  did  Jones  trade  horses  with  Deacon  Shel- 
by?" 

"Yes,  massa  dun  traded  wid  de  deakin." 

"Goodness,  Jim!  wasn't  your  master  afraid  the  dea- 
con would  get  the  best  of  him  in  the  trade?" 

"Oh  no!"  replied  Jim,  as  his  eyes  glistened  with  a 
new  intelligence,  "  Massa  knowed  how  Deakin  Shelby 
has  dun  got  kinder  pious  lately,  and  he  was  on  his 
guard!  " 

120 


A   FRONTIERSMAN. 

WESTWARD,  westward, 
westward  we  have  been 
riding  all  day  over  the 
Kansas  Pacific.  From 
Kansas  City  the  road  runs 
straight  up  the  Kansas 
River  bottom  and  along 

UPAY  YER   FAR!"  _,  .          -.--,•••,•,  i       i          t         rr    i 

Smoky  Hill  and  the  buffalo 

country  to  Denver.  On  the  train  are  grangers  from 
Carson  and  Hugo,  and  killers  and  stabbers  from  Wild 
Horse  and  Eagle  Tail. 

As  we  near  Salina,  Kansas,  Conductor  Cheeney 
comes  along  to  collect  the  fare.  Touching  a  long- 
haired miner  on  the  back,  he  looks  down  and  says, 

"Tickets!" 

"Hain't  got  none,"  says  the  frontiersman,  holding 
his  gun  with  one  hand  and  scowling  out  from  under 
his  black  slouch  hat. 

"  But  you  must  pay  your  fare,  sir !"  expostulated 
the  conductor. 

"Now  jes  look  a-here,  stranger;  mebbe  you're  a 
doin'  your  duty,  but  I  hain't  never  paid  yet  goin' 
through  this  country,  and " 

Just  then  a  slouchy  old  frontiersman,  who  had  been 
compelled  to  pay  his  fare  in  a  rear  car,  stepped  up  in 
front  of  the  mulish  passenger,  and  pointing  a  six- 
shooter  at  him,  said: 

F  121 


"See  here,  Long  Bill,  you  jes  pay  yer  fare!  I've 
paid  mine,  and  they  don't  anybody  ride  on  this  train 
free  if  I  don't — if  they  do,  damme!" 

"All  right,  you've  got  the  drop  on  me,  pardner,  so 
put  up  your  shooter  an'  I'll  settle,"  said  the  miner, 
going  into  his  pocket  for  the  money. 

"Do  these  incidents  often  happen?"  I  asked  the 
conductor  a  little  while  afterward. 

"Well,  yes,  but  not  so  often  as  they  used  to  in  1868 
and  1870,  Mr.  Perkins.  The  other  day,"  continued 
the  conductor,  "some  three-card-monte  men  came  on 
the  train  and  swindled  a  drover  out  of  $150.  The 
poor  man  seemed  to  take  it  to  heart.  He  said  his 
cattle  got  so  cheap  during  the  grasshopper  raid  that 
he  had  to  just  'peel  'em'  and  sell  their  hides  in  Kansas 
City — and  this  was  all  the  money  he  had.  A  half- 
dozen  miners  from  Denver  overheard  the  talk,  and, 
coming  up,  they  '  drew  a  bead'  on  the  monte  men  and 
told  'em  to  pay  that  money  back. 

"'Just  you  count  that  money  back,  conductor,'  they 
said,  and  after  I  had  done  it,"  continued  the  con- 
ductor, "one  of  the  head  miners  said: 

"  *  Now,  pardner,  you  jes  stop  this  train,  an'  we'll 
hang  these  three-card  fellows  to  the  telegraph  pole.'" 

"Did  they  do  it?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  they  hung  one  of  'em;  but  the  other  two, 
dog  on  it,  got  lost  in  the  grass." 

"But  wa'n't  there  h — 1  to  pay  on  that  train  when 
we  got  to  Muncie,  though,"  said  Cheney. 

"How?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  six  masked  men  stopped  the  train  and  robbed 


123 


the  express  car.  One  man  uncoupled  the  engine  and 
ran  it  forward — two  men  went  through  the  express 
safe  and  three  men  went  through  the  passengers.  But 
O !  didn't  they  play  hell,  though.  Wa'n't  it  a  glorious 
day!" 

"  Did  they  rob  anybo'dy  ?  did " 

"  No,  they  didn't  zackly  rob  'em,  but  they  frightened 
'em  almost  to  death  and  then  laughed  at  'em.  They'd 
stick  their  blunderbusses  in  the  car  windows  and  shout 
'Throw  up  your  hands!'  to  the  passengers,  and  their 
hands  would  go  up  like  pump  handles. 

The  Rev.  Winfield  Scott,  a  devilish  good  old  min- 
ister from  Denver,  was  takin'  a  quiet  game  of  poker 
with  another  passenger  at  the  time.  He  had  just  got 
four  queens  and  was  raisin'  the  ante  to  fifteen  dollars 
when  one  of  the  robbers  pointed  his  pistol  at  him  and 
sang  out: 

"'Hold  up  your 
hands!  or  I'll  blow  your 
head  off!' 

"  '  No,  you  wont,'  says 
Parson  Scott,  standing 
up  in  his  seat — 'not  by 
a  danged  sight !  I've  been  a 
preacher  of  the  gospel  goin'  on 
twenty  years,  and  I'm  ready  to  die 
in  the  harness,  and  I  will  die,  and 
any  man  can  shoot  me  and  be  danged  before  I'll  throw 
up  such  a  hand  as  that — two  trays  and  four  queens !' " 


PARSON   SCOTT. 


THE    HACKMAN. 


GENERAL  GRANT  has  been  sending  a  good  many 
Philadelphia  Quakers  to  the  Indian  Nations  as  agents. 
Recently  a  party  of  Quaker  commissioners  returned  to 
Philadelphia  on  a  visit. 

The  "Broad  Brims"  landed;  carpet-bag  in  hand,  at 
West  Philadelphia,  when  an  Irish  hack-driver,  who 
chanced  to  have  a  broad-brim  also,  stepped  up,  and 
to  ingratiate  himself  into  their  good  graces,  passed 
himself  off  as  a  brother  Quaker. 

"  Is  thee  going  towards  the  Continental  Hotel  ?" 
asked  the  hack-driver. 

"  Yea,  our  residences  are  near  there,"  replied  the 
Quakers. 

"Will  thee  take  my  carriage?" 

"Yea— gladly." 

As  they  seated  themselves,  the  hack-driver  asked 
very  seriously — 

"Where  is  thou's  baggage?" 

124 


SEWERS   AND   SOWERS. 

THE  other  day,  Uncle  Consider  and  Aunt  Patience 
came  down  to  N<?w  York  to  trade.  Uncle  said  he'd  go 
and  buy  some  jewelry — a  black  emanuel  buzzum-pin 
and  some  antic  ear-rings — for  the  girls,  and  an  onion 
seed-sower  for  the  farm;  while  Aunt  Patience  went 
looking  about  for  a  sewing-machine. 

After  a  while  Uncle  Consider,  in  his  meandering 
down  Broadway,  stumbled  into  Wilcox  &  Gibbs's 
sewing-machine  show-rooms.  He  saw  so  many  little 
machines,  and  pamphlets,  and  nice  cases  around,  that 
he  took  it  for  an  agricultural  warehouse. 

As  the  old  man  entered  the  store,  the  polite  Mr. 
Hankey,  who  always  shakes  hands  with  all  new  cus- 
tomers, advanced  to  meet  him,  saying: 

"  Good-morning,  sir.      Can  I   show  you  a  sew " 

"  Good-mornin',"  interrupted  Uncle  Consider,  grasp- 
ing Mr.-  Hankey's  hand.  "  How  d'  do  ?  1  kum  into 
buy — this  is  a  machine  store,  ain't  it  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  this  is  Wilcox  &  Gibbs's  ;  we  sell  the  best 
machines ' 

"  Well,  Mr.  Gilcox  &  Wibbs,  I  want  to  buy  a  sower — 
one  that  will  sow  all  kinds  of  little  truck — a  machine 
that  will  sow  cotton,  "will  sow " 

"  Yes;  sir ;  our  machines  will  sew  anything  in  the 
world,  and  gather,  and  tuck,  and  ruffle,  and  fell,  and 

125 


126 

hem,  and  puff;  and  we  send  a  binder  and  a  feller  with 
it — fifty-six  dollars,  sir,  for  the  plain  machine,  and " 

"You  say  it  will  bind  as  well  as  sow?" 

"  Certainly,  sir ;  bind  anything  in  the  world." 

"And  gather,  too?" 

"Anything,  sir." 

"And  sow  anything  we  may  have  to  sow  on  the 
farm?"  asked  Uncle  Consider  in  amazement. 

"Sew  anything  and  everything,  as  straight  as  a 
clothes-line,"  replied  Mr.  Hankey. 

"  And  you  sell  'em  for  fifty-six  dollars  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Well,  Mr.  Gibcox  &  Wills,  then  you  jes  send  me  up 
one  of  them  thar  machines  that  will  sow  onions,  bind 
buckwheat,  and  gather  apples,"  said  the  old  man,  un- 
rolling his  leather  wallet  and  laying  six  ten-dollar  bills 
on  the  counter. 


HARD   ON   LAWYERS. 

IN  Akron,  Ohio,  where  they  have  the  personal  dam- 
age temperance  law,  I  heard  of  a  funny  temperance 
case.  A  rumseller,  whom  I  will  call  Hi  Church,  be- 
cause he  was  "  high  "  most  of  the  time,  had  been  sued 
several  times  for  damage  done  by  his  rum  on  citizens 
of  the  town.  One  man  came  out  drunk  and  smashed 
in  a  big  glass  window.  He  was  too  poor  to  pay  for  it, 
and  the  owner  came  against  Church.  A  boy  about  six- 
teen got  drunk  and  let  a  horse  run  away  with  him, 
breaking  his  arm.  His  father  made  Church  pay  the 
damage.  A  mechanic  got  drunk  and  was  killed  on  the 
railroad  track,  and  his  wife  sued  Church  for  $2,000 
and  got  it.  A  farmer  got  drunk  and  was  burned  in 
his  barn  on  the  hay.  His  son  sued  Church  and  recov- 
ered $1800.  Church  got  sick  of  paying  out  so  much 
money  for  personal  and  property  damages.  It  ate  up 
all  the  rumseller's  profits. 

Still,  he  acknowledged  the  law  to  be  a  statute,  and 
that  it  held  him  responsible  for  all  the  damage  done 
by  his  rum.  He  used  to  argue,  also,  that  sometimes  his 
rum  did  people  good,  and  then  he  said  he  ought  to  re- 
ceive something  back. 

One  day  lawyer  Thompson  got  to  drinking.  Thomp- 
son was  mean,  like  most  all  lawyers,  and  when  he  died 
of  the  delirium  tremens  there  wasn't  much  mourning  in 

127 


128 

Akron.  There  wasn't  anybody  who  cared  enough  for 
Thompson  to  sue  Church  for  damage  done.  So,  one 
day,  Church  went  before  the  Court  himself. 

"  What  does  Mr.  Church  want  ?"  asked  the  justice. 

"  I  tell  yer  what.  Jedge,"  commenced  the  rumseller, 
"  when  my  rum  killed  that  thar  mechanic  Johnson  and 
farmer  Mason,  I  cum  down  like  a  man.  I  paid  the  dam- 
age and  squared  up  like  a  Christian — now,  didn't  I, 
Jedge?" 

"Yes,  you  paid  the  damage,  Mr.  Church;  but  "what 
then  ?" 

"  Well,  Jedge,  my  rum  did  a  good  deal  to'ards  killin' 
lawyer  Thompson,  now,  and  it  'pears  ter  me  when  I  kill 
a  lawyer  I  kinder  oughter  get  a  rebate!" 


E.  PERKINS— ATTORNEY  AT  LAW. 


ELI    PERKI.VS, 

Attorney  at  Law. 


I  AM  now  ready  to  commence 
the  practice  of  law  in  New  York. 
I've  been  reading  New  York  law 
for  two  weeks — night  and  day. 
I  find  all  law  is  based  on  prece- 
dents. Whenever  a  client  comes 
to  me  and  tells  me  he  has 
committed  a  great  crime,  I  take 
down  the  precedent  and  tell  him 
what  will  become  of  him  if  he 
don't  run  away. 

In  cases  where  clients  contem- 
plate great  crimes,  I  tell  them  beforehand  what  will  be 
the  penalty  if  they  don't  buy  a  juryman. 

Yesterday  a  man  came  to  me  and  said  he  wanted 
to  knock  Mayor  Hall's  teeth  down  his  throat.  "What 
will  be  the  penalty,  Mr.  Perkins?"  he  asked. 

"  Are  they  false  teeth    or  real  teeth  ?"  I  inquired. 
"False,  I  think,  sir." 

"  Then  don't  do  it,  sir.  False  teeth  are  personal 
property;  but  if  they  are  real,  knock  away.  These 
are  the  precedents:" 

TEETH     CASES. 

A  fellow  on  Third  avenue  I  Another  fellow  knocked  a 
borrowed  a  set  of  false  teeth  j  man's  real  teeth  down  his  throat, 


from  the  show  case  of  a  dentist, 
and  he  was  sent  to  Sing  Sing  for 
four  years. 

129 


and  Judge   Barnard   let   him  off 
with  a  reprimand  ! 


130 

The  next  day  Controller  Green  came  to  me  and 
wanted  to  knock  out  Mr.  Chas.  A.  Dana's  eye,  because 
Mr.  Dana  wrote  such  long  editorials. 

"Are  they  real  eyes  or  glass  eyes,  Mr.  Green?"  I 
asked. 

"  One  looks  like  glass,  the  other  is  undoubtedly  real," 
said  Mr.  Green. 

"Then  read  this  precedent  and  go  for  the  real 
eye:" 

POSSIBLE  EYE  CASES. 


Making  off  with  a  man's  glass 
eye — two  years  in  Sing  Sing. 


Tearing  out  a  man's  real  eye 
a  fine  of  $5. 


In  cases  of  legs  I  find  these  precedents  : 


Stealing  a  man's  crutch — two 
years  in  the  Penitentiary. 


Breaking  a  man's  leg — a  fine 
of  $10. 


So  I  advise  clients  to  go  for  real  eyes  and  real  legs. 

GENERALLY. 

I  conclude —  i       I  conclude — 

Damage  to  a  man's  property —  |  Damage  to  or  destruction  of  a 
the  Penitentiary  and  severest  pen-  I  man's  life — acquittal  or  a  recom- 
alty  which  the  law  admits.  I  mendation  to  mercy. 

Now  I  am  ready  to  practice.  I  prefer  murder  or 
manslaughter  cases,  as  they  are  the  simplest.  If  you 
want  to  shoot  a  man  come  and  see  me,  and  I'll 
make  a  bargain  with  the  judge  and  jury,  and  get  you 
bail  beforehand. 


HOW   BONN   PIRATE   THRASHED   "ELI 

PERKINS." 


LETTER    FROM    THE    VICTIM DREADFUL   PUNISHMENT 

OF  CONSIDER'S  NEPHEW. 

I  SHALL  never  forget  how  Donn  Pirate,  a  District 
of  Columbia  brigand,  and  I  fell  out  and  had  a  big 
fight.  I  shall  also  long  remember  the  terrible  thrash- 
ing he  gave  me.  I  knew  I  had  been  whipped  by  Donn 
because  I  saw  the  marks  on  Donn's  face  and  also 
talked  with  the  doctor  who  sponged  him  off  and  put 
liniment  on  him.  But  oh,  it  was  a  fearful  castigation ! 
I  never  want  to  be  whipped  again.  If  ever  any  man 
wants  to  continue  to  serve  humanity — wants  to  make 
a  martyr  of  himself — wants  to  reduce  himself  to  a 
lump  of  jelly  like  the  boneless  man  in  the  circus,  by 
whipping  me,  I  hope  he  will  read  this  and  reflect. 

This  is  the  way  Donn  came  to  thrash  me.  I  tell  it 
to  our  sorrow.  You  see,  Donn  had  been  saying  how 
I  had  stolen  some  literary  thunder  out  of  his  Capitol. 
I  informed  him  politely  how  he  had  lied,  and  insinu- 
ated that  he  was  a  d f ,  such  as  they  have  a 

good  many  of  in  the  District  of  Columbia. 

This  roused  Donn's  patriotism,  and  yesterday  he 
called  at  my  rooms  to  thrash  me.  I  was  never  so  af- 
fected in  my  life  as  when  I  saw  him  coming  up  the 

131 


132 

long  dark  stairs.  And  when  I  smelled  his  breath  I 
was  thrown  into  hysterics.  I  was  so  badly  frightened 
that  I  didn't  know  what  to  do.  I  seized  my  cane  and 
commenced  dancing  wildly  around  the  room.  Every 
now  and  then  I  would  let  it  drop  on  somebody. 

"  Please  be  quiet,  Mr.  Perkins — calm  yourself,"  said 
Mr.  Pirate,  who  seemed  to  sympathize  with  me  in  my 
extreme  agitation. 

But,  like  John  Phoenix  when  he  thrashed  Judge 
Ames,  I  couldn't  keep  quiet.  My  cane  continued  to 
fly  around  in  such  a  wild  manner  that  Donn  really 
pitied  me.  He  didn't  feel  like  going  on  with  the 
thrashing  at  all.  But  all  at  once  he  made  a  lurch 
with  both  legs  towards  the  stairs,  frightening  me  ter- 
ribly. Then  he  dragged  me  down  the  steps  by  the 
hair  of  his  head,  which  stuck  to  my  trembling  hands. 
I  was  so  frightened  that  I  fell  down  on  top  of  him. 
Then  he  shook  me  up  and  down  in  the  most  savage 
manner  by  my  poor  hands,  which  were  fastened  tightly 
to  his  coat-collar.  All  the  time  I  was  so  scared  that 
my  cane  trembled  violently  in  the  air,  and  it  would 
have  been  smashed  to  pieces  a  dozen  times  had  not 
Mr.  Pirate's  head  softened  the  blows  on  the  pavement. 
Thus  this  infuriated  man  continued  to  thrash  me  until 
he  became  unconscious.  Then  the  police  came  and  • 
took  his  hair  out  of  my  rmnds,  released  me,  and  car- 
ried him  home  on  a  stretcher. 

I  shall  never  recover  from  that  terrible  fright.  Even 
this  morning  I  began  to  be  nervously  affected  again 
when  I  saw  this  bloodthirsty  man.  My  cane  began 
trembling  in  the  air.  But  Donn  seemed  to  feel  sorry 


133 

for  me — "  so  sorry,"  he  said,  "  that  he  didn't  have  the 
heart  to  thrash  me  any  more." 

To  show  how  this  whipping  occurred,  I  append  a 
map  drawn  by  the  new  Heliotype  process  after  William 
Hogarth : 

C 

ECCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC 
E 
E 
E 
E 

E  E 

E  EEE 

E  E  D 

E  E  DDD 

E         E  D 

E       E  •  •  D 

E     E  C  D 

EEE  ECCCCCCCCCCCCC 

EEE  D 

EEE  DDDDD 

EEE  DDD 

E  E  D       D  .       D 

ED  DDD 

E   .  DDD  D 

E  DDD  D 

E     E  D  D  D  D 

E         E  D         D 

E  E  D  D 

E  E  D  D 

E  E        DDDD  D 

E  ED  DDDD 

E  ED 

EE  EE 

MAP    OF   ACCIDENT. 
D   represents  Donn. 
E    represents  Eli. 
C   represents  Cane. 

Yours  truly,  "  ELI  PERKINS." 

P.  S. — I  send  you  my  original  poem  by  Artemus 
Ward  and  John  Phoenix  on  my  truthful  and  high-toned 


134 

friend  Donnel  Pirate,  the  only  licensed  court-jester  now 
living : 

CHAP.    3ST. 

Once  on  a  time  it  came  to  pass, 

As  Donn  Pirate  was  lying 
Asleep  in  bed,  he  had  a  dream 

And  cried,  "  I'm  dying — dying  !" 

PART   ONEST. 

But  when  they  woke  the  lying  Donn, 

He  said,  "  I'm  only  cheating 
The  grave  of  my  poor  sinful  soul 

And  th'  Devil  of  a  happy  meeting." 

CONCLUSION. 

So  when  they  found  in  Washington, 

Alas  !  that  Donn  was  stealing       0  • 

A  march  on  Satan  and  his  imps, 
Their  grief  'twas  hard  concealing. 

E.  P. 


A   DAY   AT    SARATOGA. 


AM   AFRAID   SOME   ONE 
IS  WATCHING  US  !" 


FLIRTING DANCING DRINKING — GAMBLING. 

WHAT  do  the  "  swells  "  do  in  Sar- 
atoga ? 

Well,  at  eight  A.  M.  they  appear 
on  the  hotel  balcony.  He  is  dressed 
in  soft  hat,  with  feather,  and  English 
cut-away  coat ;  she  in  Leghorn  hat, 
cocked  up  with  plume.  She  carries 
a  pongee  parasol,  bound  with  black 
lace,  and  wears  a  pongee  redingote, 
with  black  lace  sleeves  to  match  her  parasol.  In  the 
old  time  of  Mrs.  Harrison  Gray  Otis  and  Mrs.  Dr. 
Rush,  young  ladies  and  poodles  in  hot  weather  both 
needed  muslin ;  but  times  have  changed. 

"Aw,  Miss  Astor,"  Augustus  remarks,  "thwal  I 
ethkort  you  to  the  Congwes  spwing?" 

"  Thanks,  Mister  de  Courtney,  thanks !"  replies 
Miss  Astor,  taking  his  arm. 

Then  they  saunter  to  the  spring,  drink  two  glasses, 
and  walk  around  the  park:  She  hangs  lovingly  on  his 
arm  as  she  watches  the  squirrels  and  fawns,  or  looks 
up  sweetly  as  she  gossips  confidentially  about  the  "hor- 
rid dresses  the  Scroggs  girls  wear."  Returning  to  the 
spring,  they  drink  the  third  glass  and  return  to  the 
"States."  Now  they  walk  three  times  up  and  down 

135 


136 

the  balcony  to  show  their  morning  costumes ;  then 
sweep  in  to  breakfast,  where  they  read  the  Saratogian, 
eat  Spanish  mackerel,  woodcock,  and  spring  chicken, 
give  the  waiter  a  dollar,  and  gossip  about  the  Jones 
girls,  whose  mother  used  to  keep  a  boarding-house. 

"Bah!  some  people  do  put  on  such  airs!"  remarks 
Miss  Astor. 

After  breakfast  and  cigars  all  sit  on  the  back  bal- 
cony of  the  "States"  to  talk  and  "spoon"  and  hear 
the  music. 

Time,  half-past  ten.  Sentimental  young  ladies  now 
"  spoon "  under  mammoth  umbrellas,  with  newspapers 
in  front. 

"  Oh,  Augustus !  I  am  afraid  somebody  is  watching 
us," 

"No,  they  kon't,  yeu  kneuw,  Miss  Mollie ;  but  it's 
hawid  to  sit  in  such  a  cwowd — perfectly  atwocious; 
let's  walk  up  to.  the  gwaveyard." 

"To  see  the  Indians,  Augustus?" 

"Oh,  yes;  they're  jolly  nice  —  perfectly  lovely  — 
splen " 

And  off  they  go  to  the  Indian  encampment  on  the 
hill. 

At  two  P.  M.  dinner — sweetbreads,  salad,  Philadel- 
phia squabs,  and  champagne. 

"O  gracious!     Augustus,  'aren't  my  cheeks  red!" 

Augustus's  father,  after  eating  squabs  and  drinking 
champagne,  sherry,  and  claret,  remarks: 

"  Did  it  ever  occur  to  you,  Mr.  Perkins,  that  a  plain 
liver  like  me  could  have  the  gout?" 

Dinner  over,  and  all  retire  to  balcony  to  smoke  and 


137 

read  the  papers.  Sentimental  young  people  retire  to 
corners  and  flirt  under  umbrellas  and  twenty-inch  fans, 
and  Augustus  reads  sentimental  poetry : 

You  kissed  me  !     My  soul,  in  a  bliss  so  divine, 

Reeled  and  swooned  like  a  foolish  man  drunken  with  wine. 

And  I  thought  'twere  delicious  to  die  then,  if  Death 

Would  but  come  while  my  lips  were  yet  moist  with  your  breath  ! 

And  these  are  the  questions  I  ask  day  and  night : 

Must  my  life  taste  but  one  such  exquisite  delight? 

Would  you  care  if  your  breast  were  my  shelter  as  then  ? 

And — if  you  were  here — would  you  kiss  me  again  ? 

Miss  Astor  reads : 

Why  can't  you  be  sensible,  dearie  ? 

I  don't  like  men's  arms  on  my  chair. 
Be  still  !  if  you  don't  stop  this  nonsense, 

I'll  get  up  and  leave  you — so  there  ! 

Then  the  "  spooniest "  young  people  saunter  over  to 
the  ten-spring  woods  or  down  to  the  double  seats  in 
Congress  Spring  Park. 

After  tea  the  grand  balcony  tramp  commences. 
Ladies  in  full  dress — gros  grain  silks,  tight  to  hip,  long 
train,  with  white  lace  sleeves.  Hair  braided  in  short 
stem  behind.  Gentlemen  in  "swallow  tails." 

"O,  Augustus!  isn't  this  dress  too  sweet  for  any- 
thing?" 

"  Just  too  lovely,  Miss  Astor.  And  ain't  the  mewsic 
awful  jolly  to-night?" 

Admiring  mothers  now  look  on  and  hold  extra  chairs. 
Rich  old  bachelors  who  own  dog-carts  bow,  present 
bouquets,  and  retire.  Engaged  couples  seclude  them- 
selves in  unlighted  corners. 

"Yes,  Augustus,  we'll  go  to  Washington  on  our 
bridal  trip." 


138 

At  nine,  children  are  led  off  to  bed,  mothers  occupy 
long  lines  of  chairs  around  the  hop  room,  and  dancing 
commences.  Small  talk  usurps  the  time  between  the 
sets. 

Young  Gentleman — Charmin'  evening,  Miss  Astor. 

Young  Lady — Yes,  awful  charmin' — perfectly  lovely — 
splen 

Young  Gentleman — Donee  a  squar  donee  to-night  ? 

Young  Lady — Oh,  Augustus !  I  kon't,  yeu  kneuw. 
The  squar  donees  are  beastly — perfectly  atwocious — 
hawible  —  perfectly  dre'ful.  Let's  donee  a  galop. 
They're  awful  jolly — perfectly  divine. 

Twelve  P.  M. — Hop  over  and  lights  out.  Girls  drink 
lemonade  in  reception  room,  talk  about  ruined  dress 
skirts,  and  handsome  fellows  rush  down  to  Morrissey's. 

"I'll  make  or  break  to-night." 

Table  loaded  with  white  and  red  checks,  champagne 
flows,  and  cigar  smoke  fills  the  air,  like  a  cherubim. 

"  Gus,  lend  me  $10?" 

"The  white  loses  and  the  red  wins,"  slowly  repeats 
the  dealer. 

"My  God,  I'm  ruined!" 

After  midnight — streets  silent ;  hotel  dark.  The  click 
of  the  gamblers'  checks  sounds  out  from  the  gilded 
haunt  of  the  revelers.  Lizzie  dreams  of  dresses,  of 
love,  of  heaven — and  of  her  dear,  dear,  innocent 
Augustus. 

"Who  smashed  that  champagne  bottle  into  the  mir- 
ror?" 

.Then  they  carry  Augustus  home — hair  over  his  face 
and  his  blue  eyes  bleared  and  blinded. 


139 


"Oh,  please  keep  it  from  father!" 

Why  do  I  reflect  ?  Why  do  I  look  upon  all  this 
sinning  and  sorrowing  —  this  verity  and  vanity — this 
gladness  and  giddiness,  and  see  no  good  ?  Sorrow- 
fully I  bow  my  head  and  say: 


We  are  born  ;  we  dance  ;  we  weep  ; 

We  love,  we  laugh — we  die  I 
Ah,  wherefore  do  we  laugh  or  weep  ? 

Why  do  we  love — and  die  ? 
Who  knows  that  secret  deep? 

Alas,  not  I  ! 
We  toil  through  pain  and  wrong  ; 

We  fight— and  fly  ; 
We  love  ;  we  lose,  and  then,  ere  long, 

Stone  dead  we  lie  ! 
O  life,  is  all  thy  song, 

"  Endure  and  die  "  ? 


PLEASE   KEEP    IT  FROM 


THE  SWELLS  AT  SARATOGA. 


ELI  MOURNS  BECAUSE  HE  CANNOT  DANCE  THE  ROUND 
DANCES. 

CONVERSATIONS  as  varied  as 
the  crowd  greet  you  on  every 
hand  at  Saratoga.  Last  night 
Mr.  Winthrop,  a  young  author 
from  Boston,  was  talking  to  Miss 
Johnson  from  Oil  City.  Miss 
Johnson  is  a  beautiful  girl — very 
fashionable.  No  material  expense 
is  spared  to  make  her  attractive. 
She  is  gored  and  puckered  to 
match  her  pannier,  and  ruffled 
and  -fluted  and  cut  on  the  bias  to  MISS  JOHNSON. 

correspond  with   her  overskirt,  but,  alas!    her  literary 
knowledge  is  limited. 

As  Mr.  Winthrop  was  promenading  up  and  down 
the  balcony  last  night,  he  remarked  to  Miss  Johnson 
as  he  opened  Mr.  Jenkins's  English  book : 

"Have  you  seen  Ginocs  Baby,  Miss  Johnson?" 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Winthrop !  I  think  all  babies  are  dread- 
ful— awful — perfectly  atrocious  !  Mrs.  Ginx  don't  bring 
her  baby  into  the  parlor,  does  she?" 

"  But  how  do  you  like  Dame  Europa's  School,  Miss 
Johnson  ?"  continued  Mr.  Winthrop. 

140 


141 

"I  don't  like  any  school  at  all,  Mr.  Winthrop,  except 
dancing  school — they're  dreadful — perfectly  atrocious  ! 
O.  the  divine  round  dances,  the " 

"  Have  you  seen  the  Woman  in  White,  by  Wilkie 
Collins,  Miss  Johnson?" 

"  No,  but  I  saw  the  woman  in  dark  blue  by  Commo- 
dore Vanderbilt — and  such  a  dancer — such  a " 

"Did  you  see  Napoleons  Julius  Ccesar?"  interrupted 
Mr.  Winthrop. 

"  Napoleon's  Julius  seize  her!  you  dpn't  say  so,  Mr. 
Winthrop!  Well,  I  don't  wonder.  I  wanted  to  seize 
her  myself — any  one  who  would  wear  such  an  atrocious 
polonaise  /" 

And  so,  aristocratic  Miss  Johnson  went  on.  In  every 
word  she  uttered  I  saw  the  superiority  of  the  material 
over  the  mental — the  preponderance  of  milliner  over 
the  schoolmaster.  I  was  glad  to  sit  with  the  poor 
Boston  author  at  the  fountain  of  Miss  Johnson's  wisdom 
— to  drink  in  a  perpetual  flow  of  soul,  and  to  feast  on 
reason. 

But  when  a  moment  afterwards  I  saw  Miss  Johnson 
and  empty-headed  Mr.  Witherington  of  Fifth  avenue 
floating  down  the  ball-room  in  the  redowa,  I  felt  that 
my  early  education  had  been  neglected. 

"Alas,  I  cannot  dance!"  I  sighed.  "I  cannot  dance 
the  German!" 

"O,"  I  sighed  in  the  anguish  of  my  heart,  "would 
that  I  had  directed  my  education  in  other  channels; 
would  that  I  had  cultivated  my  brain  less  and  my  heels 
more,  and  that  books  and  art  and  architecture  had 
not  drawn  me  aside  from  the  festive  dance.  Would 


that  the  palace  of  the  Caesars,  the  Milan  Cathedral, 
and  the  great  dome  of  St.  Paul's  were  in  chaos !  Would 
that  Dickens  and  John  Ruskin  and  old  Hugh  Miller 
had  never  lived,  and  that  the  sublime  coloring  of  Rem- 
brandt and  Raphael  had  faded  like  the  colors  of  a 
rainbow." 


"  After  death  comes  the  judgment ;  and  what  will  it 
profit  a  man  to  gain  the  whole  world  and  fail  with 
Miss  Johnson  to  dance  the  round  dances?"  In  the 
anguish  of  my  heart  I  cry  aloud,  "  May  the  Lord  have 
mercy  on  my  soul  and  not  utterly  cut  me  off  because 
I  have  foolishly  cultivated  my  brain  while  my  heels 
have  rested  idly  in  my  boots." 

So  I  went  on! 


MINNIE    IN    SARATOGA. 


MINNIE  is  a  type  of  the  watering 
place  belle.  She  is  as  beautiful 
as  her  picture,  and  so  fascinating  ! 
Below  is.  Minnie's  diary  for  one 
week,  just  as  she  wrote  it  at  Sar- 
atoga. 

MINNIE'S  DIARY. 

Monday. — Horribly  cold.  Ar- 
rived from  Lake  George  to-day. 
Looked  like  a  fright — know  I  did, 

MINNIE.  .  T  r       1  M 

when    I   got  out  of  the  omnibus. 

Wonder  if  the  Vaughans  are  here.  Phew !  had  to  walk 
through  fifty  men  smoking  on  the  balcony.  Eight 
dresses — eight  days.  Know  Virginia  is  dying  to  see 
them ;  such  lace  !  Saw  Bob  Munson.  Had  same  club- 
house smell  as  Fred.  Walking  wine-cellar.  She  kissed 
me  in  the  hall  twice.  Pumped  her  about  Dick.  Didn't 
show  in  the  parlor  to-night.  Will  make  a  sensation  at 
breakfast.  Who  is  this  Dick?  Looks  like  a  poke. 

Tuesday. — Bob  Munson 's  -card  before  breakfast — the 
bore !  Drank  four  glasses.  Spooned  with  Bob  on  park 
seat;  afraid  it  won't  agree  with  me.  I  do  believe  he 
loves  me.  Said  so.  Squeezed  my  hand  twice.  The 
idiot!  I'm  too  happy  to  live.  Chops  and  codfish, 

H  143 


144 

Quaker  style,  for  breakfast.  Virginia  called  with  Dick. 
Such  a  dress — gored  and  puffed  and  fluted,  and  the 
dear  knows  what !  Just  saw  an  old  flame,  Albert,  dear 
Albert.  Bowed  gracefully.  Mamma  frowned.  Oh, 
dear !  Asked  him  to  call.  Squeezed  my  hand  a  little. 
What  did  he  mean?  Virginia's  mother  very  sick. 
Water  was  too  much  for  me. 

Wednesday. — Such  an  event  has  hap- 
pened. Dick  called.  Glad  Virginia 
left  him  with  me.  Such  a  lovely  waltz 
with  Bob.  Why  don't  he  cut  his  nails  ? 
Horrible !  I  bite  'mine.  After  waltz, 
spooned  with  Dick.  Dick  says  I'm  too 
sweet  to  live.  Perfectly  atrocious.  "  DICK  CALLED." 
Dick  and  I  think  alike.  He  likes  the  moon,  and  I'm 
another.  He's  spooney  and  so — well,  I  make  him  be- 
lieve I  am.  If  that  mean,  jealous  Fanny  Mason  goes 
peering  around  again  when  Dick  is  holding  my  hand, 
I'll  scalp  her.  No,  I'm  to  be  her  bridesmaid. 

Thursday. — Walked  to  graveyard  with  Dick.  Such 
a  nice,  sensible  talk  as  we  had.  First,  we  talked  about 
the  soul — how  destiny  -  often  binds  two  souls  together 
by  an  invisible  chain.  Pshaw,  what  an  old  Muggins 
Bob  Munson  is !  Then  we  considered  the  mission  of 
man  and  woman  upon  earth — how  they  ought  to  com- 
fort each  other  in  sickness  and  in  health.  If  I  looked 
like  that  fright  who  wore  the  blue  dress,  I'd  wear  cor- 
sets. And  then  Dick  quite  startled  me  by  asking  me 
if  I  ever  cared  for  any  one.  Wore  blue  grenadine  cut 
on  the  bias  to-night.  Told  him  yes,  for  papa  and 
mamma.  Always  did  look  lovely  in  grenadine.  Dick 


145 

is  a  darling.  "I  mean,  Minnie,  could  you  love  me?" 
The  fraud.  Cut  the  Masons  flat. 

Friday. — O  dear!  Rode  to  the  lake.  Bob  said, 
"I'm  going  to  have  a  lemonade;  what  will  you  have?" 
Just  as  if  I  could  say  champagne  after  that.  Albert, 
dear  Albert !  Wore  white  muslin.  Dick  spooned  again. 
"You  look  sweet  enough  to  kiss."  Mustache  touched 
my  face.  Said  he  longed  for  a  chance  to  talk  with  me 
alone.  Knew  the  precious  time  had  come,  and  Dick 
was  just  a-going  to  say  it,  when  ma  came  up,  with  that 
dreadful  old  widower  Thompson.  O  dear!  Water 
disagrees  with  me  again.  Must  stop  it. 

"Come,  Minnie,  you  go  with  Mr.  Thompson.  I 
want  to  introduce  your  young  friend  Dick  to  the 
Masons."  I  look  like  a  fright.  Don't  pay  to  buy  six- 
buttoned  gloves  to  spoon  in. 

Dick  flirted  with  Fanny  Mason  —  the  scarecrow' 
Wore  Elizabeth  ruffle  four  inches  high.  Did  it  to 
spite  Fanny  Mason.  Where  is  Virginia  ? 

Saturday. — Dick  proposed.  Swell  clothes  did  the 
business.  I  do  love  lavender  gloves.  Virginia  is  cut 
out,  sure.  Sang  "  Rock  me  to  Sleep."  Fanny  Mason 
said  I  had  a  cold.  The  meddling  old  wudgock  !  Lav- 
ender is  my  color.  Engaged  to  Dick.  Gracious,  I'm 
half  afraid  I  love  that  fellow  !  He  does  kiss  too  sweet 
for  anything.  Must  stop  drinking  the  water.  Saw  the 
educated  pig.  He's  a  boor.  Mother  caught  Dick  kiss- 
ing me.  Told  father.  Stormed.  Let  out  that  we 
were  engaged.  "  Then  you'll  go  home  to-morrow."  O, 
dear,  my  fun  is  all  over.  Must  stop  at  the  Point  and 
take  in  the  cadets  once  more.  They  can't  flirt.  Such 


146 

goslings !     Dick  goes  with  us,  and  Virginia — she's  jilt- 
ed !     Ha !     Ha ! ! 

P.  S. — Wrote  a  letter  to  Julia  Mason. 

MINNIE    TO    JULIA. 

My  Darling  Julia :  First  let  me  tell  you  all  about 
myself.  I'm  just  lovely,  and  having  such  a  time! 
Flirting  in  Saratoga  ain't  »like  flirting  in  New  York — 
in  the  horrid  box  at  the  opera,  or  on  the  atrocious  stairs 
at  a  party.  We  have  just  the  whole  back  balcony  all 
to  ourselves — and  then  we  walk  over  to  the  graveyard, 
and  pretend  to  go  down  to  bowl,  and  stray  off  into 
Congress  Spring  Park.  Then  the  drives !  My  lovely 
phaeton — and  Prancer,  she's  just  too  sweet  for  anything ! 
Now,  the  idea  of  calling  a  horse  sweet! 

"How  do  I  look?" 

Well,  the  best  way  to  tell  you  that  is  to  send  you  a 
sketch  which  Dick  rdade  for  me.  Now,  you  don't  know 
who  Dick  is,  I  suppose.  Well,  Julia — now  don't  you 
mention  it — he's — Dick  is — well,  I'm  engaged  to  him ! 
Dick  is  a  brunette,  you  know,  and  I'm  a  blonde.  He's 
poetical  and  I'm  prosy.  He's  lean  and  I'm  stout.  He's 
serious  and  I'm  giddy.  He's  smart  and  I'm — but  you 
should  just  see  his  eyes  once.  Such  eyes  ! 

And  such  a  divine  mustache,  Julia ! 

I  know  he  loves  me.  He's  told  me  so  fifty  times; 
and  when  I  tell  him  I  love  him,  he  draws  a  long,  sad 
sigh,  and  says : 

"I  am  very  happy,  darling;    I  like  to  be  loved." 

That's  all  he  says,  but  I  know  he  loves  me. 

I  know  you  want  to  know  how  I  got  Dick  "  on  the 


147 

string,"  now  don't  you  ?  Well,  I'll  tell  you.  There  is 
a  Miss  Virginia  Vaughan  stopping  at 
the  Clarendon.  She's  an  old  thing, 
and  awfully  cross  and  prudish,  'as  all 
those  Clarendon  girls  are. 

Ha,  ha  !     You  know,  Dick,  he  says 
the    Clarendon    must    be    an    awful 
healthy  place. 
"  THE  MEAN  THING  !"          "Why?"  I  asked. 

"  Because  most  all  the  young  ladies  live  to  such  nice 
old  ages  there." 
Oh,  the  wretch! 

If  it  weren't  so  healthy  up  there,  O  dear!  a  good 
many  of  them  would  have  been  dead  years  ago,  wouldn't 
they  ? 

Well,  this  Virginia  Vaughan  knew  Dick.  She,  the 
mean  thing,  was  engaged  to  him  when  they  came  here. 
How  he  could  have  ever  fancied  that  cross  thing,  I  don't 
know.  My  !  wouldn't  she  eat  me  up  if  she  could — 
wouldn't  she  ! 

Mother  says  Vaughan  and  my  Dick  look  just  alike. 
Bah! 

Well,  to  tell  you  how  I  first  met  Dick.  Virginia,  you 
know,  was  engaged  to  him.  About  a  week  ago  she  got 
a  telegraph  from  the  Masons  over  at  Newport,  saying 
her  mother  was  sick — almost  dying.  Virginia  had  to 
go,  of  course.  So  she  came  to  me  and  said  she  loved 
Dick,  and  she  hated  to  leave  him — the  simpleton — and 
that  as  they  were  engaged,  Dick  would  be  quite  lone- 
some without  her.  The  little  goose !  Then  she  asked 
me  to  sort  of  entertain  Dick  till  she  came  back.  Sit  on 


148 

the  balcony,  you  know,  and  promenade,  etc.  Well,  I 
did  it :  you  may  be  assured  I  did.  I  played  awful 
sweet  on  poor  Richard.  ("  Poor  Richard  "  is  good — 
ain't  it  ?  I  mean  for  me.)  I  asked  him  to  promenade 
in  the  park.  We  sat  on  that  flirting  seat.  I  said  I  was 
lonely.  I  told  him  it  was  not  meet  for  any  one  to  live 
all  alone.  Then  I  sighed,  and  let  my  hand  fall  gently 
on  the  book.  Of  course  he  took  it — any  fellow  will  do 
that.  You  know  the  rest.  In  three  days  he  proposed 
to  me—  and — I — well,  of  course  I  accepted  him.  Of 
course  I  had  to. 

But  what  a  fuss  we  had,  though!  One  day  I  was 
sitting  on  that  seat  alone,  reading  and  waiting  for  Dick. 
I  knew  he  was  coming — of  course  I  did.  Pretty  soon 
I  heard  some  one  stealing  up  behind  me.  I  was  sure 
it  was  Dick,  but  I  pretended  not  to  notice  him.  Pretty 
soon  he  came  close  up,  and  gave  me  a  kiss,  smack  on 
my  neck. 

"Oh,  Dick!  how  could  you,  darling?"  I  cried,  when, 
looking  up — good  gracious  !  what  do  you  think  ?  Why, 
it  wa'n't  Dick  at  all.  It  was  that  mean,  old,  poky, 
cross  Virginia  Vaughan  ! 

Of  course  she  made  a  fuss  about  it,  and  broke  off 
the  engagement,  and  all  that ;  but  I  don't  care.  Dick 
is  mine  now;  and  they  say  the  silly  thing  has  actually 
put  on  mourning ! 

Did  you  ever  ? 

Well,  Vaughan  (we  girls  don't  call  her  Virginia  any 
more)  has  got  some  other  beaux  now.  She's  got  old 
gray-headed  Munson,  of  the  Jockey  Club. 

Old  Munson  drives  a  Brewster  dog-cart,  with  a  tiger 


149 

behind;  and  such  swell  English  clothes!  Then  there 
is  a  real  nice  club-house  smell  about  him  all  the  time, 
like  dried  champagne  and  cigar-smoke.  Dick  says  all 
these  club  men  smell  like  a  dried  bar. 

There,  pa  is  coming. 

The  dear,  good  old  pa !  I'm  going  right  straight  to 
him  and  tell  him  about  Dick,  get  him  to  say  "yes," 
and  then  tease  him  out  of  such  a  trousseau !  Dia- 
monds, laces,  silver,  six  bridesmaids,  honeymoon,  and — 
goodness ! — I  wonder  if  Dick  will  want  to  do  like  those 
Union  Club  fellows — go  off  and  spend  the  entire 
honeymoon  with  the  fellows,  and  leave  me  at  home! 
Such  things  are  dreadful.  Oh,  dear ! 

But,  darling,  I  must  close.  Let's  see,  what  have  I 
written  about  ?  Next  time  I'll  tell  you  about  myself. 
By-by  !  You  old  darling  !  MINNIE. 

SARATOGA,  July  23. 


MARRIED   BROWN'S  BOYS   AT   SARATOGA. 

HIS   SECRET    LOVE-LETTER. 

SARATOGA,  July  18. 

YES,  married  Brown's  Boys.  You  will  see  them  in 
every  large  city  and  at  every  watering-place — men  mar- 
ried to  suffering,  neglected  wives,  but  flirting  with 
scores  of  young  ladies. 

Yesterday    a    young    lady,  Miss   Ida  ,   at   the 

United  States  Hotel,  received  a  letter  from  one  of  these 
married  Browns'  Boy  flirts  at  the  Clarendon.  Miss  Ida 
carried  the  letter  all  day,  and  accidentally  dropped  it 
in  the  ball-room  last  night.  The  writer  is  a  handsome 
man,  the  husband  of  a  devoted  wife,  and  the  father 
of  beautiful  children,  and  this,  alas!  is  the  heartless 
letter  which  he  writes  to  one  of  our  young  ladies  to- 
day : 

CLARENDON,  July  TO. 
My  own  darling  : 

I  will  try  and  see  you  to-night  in  the  piano  corner 
of  the  big  parlor — at  eight.     Manage  to  be  there  with 
Lizzie    and    Charley,    for    they    are 
spooney  and  we  can  "shake"  them, 
and  they  will  take  it  as  a  kindness. 
I  send  you  my  photograph.    How 
do  you  like  it?     Do  send  me  yours. 
You    are   in    my  mind  constantly- 
day  and  night.     You  say  you  "don't 

"MY    PHOTOGRAPH."          fa^       J      can      be      true      to       you 

150 


151 

have  a  wife  at  the  Clarendon."  Have  I  not  told 
you,  dearest,  that  I  have  no  wife?  To  be  sure,  we 
are  married,  but  she  is  not  my  wife.  I  do  not  love 
her  as  I  love  you.  She  belonged  to  a  very  rich 
family,  and  had  a  good  deal  of  property — Boulevard 
lots.  She  laid  no  claim  to  being  aristocratic.  My 
family  were  aristocratic.  There  is  no  better  blood  in 
the  Knickerbocker  Club  than  he  has  who  has  so 
often  confessed  his  love  to  you.  She  married  me  for 
my  aristocratic  connections,  and  I  married  her,  alas ! 
I  am  ashamed  to  confess  it,  for  her  great  wealth.  We 
are  married,  but  not  mated.  Then,  after  she  nursed 
me  through  a  long  spell  of  sickness,  she  looked  hag- 
gard and  worn.  Then  I  told  her  I  could  not  love 
her  unless  she  looked  fresh  and  beautiful.  She  looked 
sad  at  this,  and  turned  her  head  away.  Foolish  woman. 
Then  I  resolved  to  get  a  divorce.  This  was  before 
I  saw  you,  my  dear,  sweet  girl — before  Miss  S.  pre- 
sented us  at  the  last  ball.  Didn't  we  have  a  sweet 
time?  Then,  when  we  rode  over  to  the  lake,  and 
sauntered  out  along  the  willow  banks,  Mrs.  C.  thought 
I  was  at  the  races.  That  night  I  loved  you  so  wildly 
that  I  had  a  fearful  headache.  I  knew  it  was  that. 
I  threw  myself  on  my  bed  at  the  Clarendon.  Mrs.  C. 
insisted  on  bathing  my  head  with  camphor.  She  said 
the  races  were  too  much  for  me.  I  tossed  and  rolled  in 
a  delirium  for  hours,  and  then  finally  went  to  sleep.  In 
my  sleep  I  dreamed  of  you,  my  dear  Ida.  I  called  your 
name  aloud  several  times — then  I  awoke.  It  was  three 
o'clock,  but  Mrs.  C.,  haggard  and  worn,  was  still  sitting 
over  me.  When  I  cried  your  name,  dear  Ida,  she  said : 


152 


"Why,  darling,  have  you  forgotten  my  name?  My 
name  is  not  Ida." 

How  stupid !  In  the  morning  I  gave  her  a  scolding 
for  making  a  fool  of  herself.  She  looked  so  forlorn 
after  this  that  I  told  her  to  stay  in  her  room,  and  I 
came  down  and  spent  that  happy  evening  with  you. 

In  one  of  your  notes,  dear  Ida,  you  say  your  papa 
asked  you  if  I  was  not  married,  and  that  you  blushed 
and  said  "  Of  course  not."  That's  right.  I  never  take 
out  Mrs.  C.,  and  no  one  knows  that  we  are  married 
but  our  intimate  friends. 

I  shall  soon  have  a  divorce, 
when  I  will  let  her  go  with  a 
dowry.  It  is  quite  funny  to 
think  that  the  very  money 
which  I  propose  to  pay  her 
dowry  with,  she  herself  gave  me 
when  we  were  married.  But  if 
I  give  her  a  small  dowry,  then 
we  will  have  enough  to  keep 
our  carriage  and  live  hand- 
somely. Won't  we,  pet?  You 
say,  darling,  that  you  could 
never  be  happy  without  a  carriage.  Well,  you  shall 
have  one,  if  I  have  to  sell  Minnie's  diamonds  to  buy 
it.  Minnie  won't  want  diamonds  when  she  is  living 
on  a  dowry. 

You  ask  me  how  I  became  acquainted  with  Minnie  ? 

Well,  it's  a  funny  story.     We  first  met  at  Newport. 

Her  father  came  up  with  the  Vintons — coach  and  four, 

Minnie  was  beautiful  then.     She  had  golden  hair  and 


UHOW  DO  YOU  LIKE  IT?" 


153 

great  brown  eyes,  like  you,  pel,  and  an  arm  as  plump 
and  white  as  Lizzie's;  but  she  has  worried  herself  so 
about  me  when  I've  had  neuralgia  and  headache  after 
big  dinners  at  the  Club,  that  she's  only  a  shadow 
now. 

Well,  as  I  was  saying,  we  were  at  Newport  together. 
'  One  day  we  were  out  rowing — clear  out  by  the  light- 
house. I  stood  up  in  the  boat  to  light  a  cigar — a  gust 
came  and  over  I  went  into  the  surf.  I  thought  I  was 
done  for,  and  I  did  sink  twice,  but  the  third  time 
Minnie  rowed  the  boat  up  to  me,  caught  hold  of  my 
clothes,  and  held  me  till  some  men  put  out  from  the 
shore.  I  ought  to  be  very  grateful  to  Minnie — and  I 
am.  I'm  going  to  allow  her  a  large  dowry — for  her — 
$1,500  a  year,  and  we'll  take  care  of  Freddy  ourselves, 
won't  we?  I  suppose  she  will  want  Freddy — all  moth- 
ers are  foolish  about  their  children;  but  he's  a  boy, 
and  of  course  I  can  take  him.  Then  he  won't  bore  us 
much,  as  we  can  trudge  him  off  to  boarding-school. 

Now,  my  darling  Ida,  you  see  how  much  I  love  you. 
So  keep  this  evening  for  me  and  all  the  round  dances 
on  your  card.  Those  United  States  fellows  wouldn't 
make  such  a  sacrifice  for  you  as  I  would — would 
they?  Tell  your  father  that  I'm  a  vestryman  in  Dr. 
Morgan's  church.  I'm  not,  you  know,  but  they  did 
speak  to  me  about  it  once,  and  it's  the  same  thing. 

With  kisses  and  love,  dear  Ida,  I  am  all  thine  till  I 
see  you. 

J.  C.  F. 

P.  S. — Of  course  this  note  is  all  entre  nous. 

J 


154 

To-night  I  watched  for  J.  C.  F.  Sure  enough,  Miss 
Ida  sat  waiting  for  him  in  the  piano  corner.  In  a 
moment  they  "shook"  Lizzie  and  Charley,  and  went 
off  on  the  back  balcony,  where  the  lights  are  few  and 
dim.  There  they  are  now — now  as  I  write.  I  can 
see  their  shadows  drawn  out  on  the  floor,  but,  alas! 
they  are  not  two  shadows,  but  one.  They  must  be' 
sitting  very  close  together. 

This,  alas,  is  love  —  Saratoga  love.  This  is  new- 
dispensation  love.  This  is  round  dance,  dog  cart, 
tandem,  panier  love.  This  is  not  the  old-fashioned 
love  of  Ruth  and  Boaz  nor  the  foolish  sentiment  of 
Dante  and  Beatrice.  This  is  the  pure  and  sublime 
passion  engendered  by  the  new  civilization — the  civili- 
zation of  divorce  trials,  faro  banks,  horse  races,  and 
round  dances.  The  old  love  of  our  fathers  was  old- 
fashioned  and  primitive.  The  new  love  must  come 
through  wives  divorced,  through  six-carat  solitaires  and 
in  a  gilded  tandem  drag  with  coachmen  in  gold- 
spangled  liveries.  Honor,  bravery,  learning !  Bah  ! 
Take  away  your  Socrates  and  give  me  the  new  Phil- 
osopher with  his  coachmen  in  top-boots.  Why  serve 
seven  years  for  a  woman's  love,  like  miserable  Jacob, 
caught  in  the  snares  of  Rachel,  when  you  can  marry 
a  fortune,  divorce  your  wife  with  a  $1,500  dowry,  and 
carry  off  your  new  sweetheart  in  two  weeks  at  New- 
port and  Saratoga  ?  We  all  take  to  the  new  panier- 
dog-cart  love.  We  all  throw  away  the  plain  gold  ring 
for  the  sparkling  solitaire.  Did  not  Martin  Luther  go 
back  on  Rome  and  St.  Peter — his  first  love — for  the 
pretty  girl  of  Nuremburg? 


ELI'S   BELLE   OF   SARATOGA. 

THERE  she  goes — the  old  belle — and  thus  we  sum 
her  up:  Nine  gallons  of  inflated  pannier,  176  yards 
of  muslin  in  trailing  underskirts,  $48  worth  of  wig,  $36 
worth  of  dangling  smelling-bottles,  fans,  card-cases, 
and  straps;  196  yards  of  gros  grain  silk,  some  cotton, 
one  box  of  pearl  powder ;  $72  worth  of  teeth  on  gutta 
percha;  six-button  gloves,  mammoth  umbrella,  copy  of 
Edmund  Yates's  book — and  all  hanging  on  the  arm  of 
something  intended  to  represent  a  man — a  sort  of  ama- 
teur gentleman. 

Saxe  says : 

Hark  to  the  music  of  her  borrowed  tone  ; 
Observe  the  blush  that  purchase  makes  her  own  ; 
See  the  sweet  smile  that  sheds  its  beaming  rays, 
False  as  the  bosom  where  her  diamonds  blaze. 

And  sorrowfully  my  cousin  Peleg  wails  this  verse : 

See  how  the  changes  of  her  walk  reveal 
The  patent  instep  and  the  patent  heel : 
Her  patent  pannier  rounds  her  form  divine, 
Its  patent  arch  supports  her  patent  spine, 
Lends  matchless  symmetry  and  stylish  gait, 
And  bears  the  label,  "PATENT— '68." 
A  patent  corset  holds  her  flimsy  form, 
And  patent  dress-pads  keep  her  bosom  warm. 
Behold  the  plaintive  glance  of  patent  eyes, 
As  she  lifts  her  patent  eyebrows  in  surprise. 
She  shakes  her  head — four  pecks  of  patent  hair 
Fly  like  a  hop-yard  in  the  August  air, 

MB 


136 

And  twenty  grim  ghosts  whisper  her  aside, 
"  Dear  Sylph  !  we  wore  that  wig  before  we  died." 
To  whom  respondeth,  unabashed,  the  beauty, 
Git  out,  you  spooks  !  I  guess  I  know  vxyjute-jr" 
How  gnash  her  patent  teeth  with  gutta  percha  ire. 
And  flash  her  patent  eyes  with  belladonna  fire  ! 
As  drops  her  patent  chignon  in  a  chair, 
She  jumps  to  pick  it  up 

But  I  forbear. 


BROWN'S  BOYS  AT  SARATOGA. 


GUS  AND  MISS  K. 


HOW    INNOCENT    YOUNG    MEN    ARE    DECEIVED. 

SARATOGA,  July  &t&. 
YESTERDAY     a    remarkable 
case  of  misplaced  confidence 
came  out  up  at  the  aristocratic 
United  States. 

A  kind  old  millionaire  fath- 
er was  staying  there  with  two 
daughters.  He  was  said  to 
be  very  wealthy.  He  himself 
talks  of  putting  $500,000  into 
a  national  bank.  Under  the 
circumstances,  of  course  the 
Brown's  Boys  have  been  very  sweet  on  the  eldest  young 
lady.  They  (and  one  especially)  have  been  always  on 
hand  with  bouquets  and  bon-bons.  Absolute  devotion 
are  no  words  to  express  this  young  man's  polite  atten- 
tion. Thus  the  thing  has  been  going  on  for  a  week. 
All  at  once  yesterday  the  most  devoted  young  man  fell 
off.  He  looked  pale  and  excited.  Then  he  gave  up 
his  aristocratic  room"  at  the  States,  and  took  cheap 
rooms  at  Congress  Hall.  Here  he  looked  the  picture 
of  discouragement. 

Meeting  him  this  morning  I  asked  him  what  was  the 
matter. 

Why,  Eli,"  said  he,  as  he  heaved  a  great  sigh,  "I've 

157 


158 

been  devoted  to  Miss  K for  a  whole  week;  we've 

been  over  to  eat  black  bass  at  Meyers's ;  we've  bowled 
and  breakfasted  at  Moon's,  and  I  don't  know  what 
we  haven't  done." 

"Well,  Gus,  what  of  that?"  I  asked. 

"Nothing,  only  I've  been  fooled  —  deceived.  You 
know  Miss  K 's  father  is  rich?" 

"Yes — a  millionaire." 

"And  I've  been  devoted  to  her  for  a  week?" 

"Yes,  I've  noticed  it." 

"  Spent  lots  of  money  on  her  for  bouquets  and  drives, 
and " 

"And  what,  Gus,  w-h-a-t?" 

"Why,  Will  Clark  knows  the  family.  He  was  grooms- 
man at  the  old  fellow's  first  daughter's  wedding." 

"Was  it  a  big  one?"  I  asked. 

"Yes,  a  swell  affair  on  Madison  avenue.  But  when 
the  poor  young  husband  went  to  get  into  the  carriage 
to  start  on  his  bridal  tour,  the  old  tight-fisted  drome- 
dary of  a  father-in-law  gave  his  bride-daughter — how 
much  do  you  think?" 

"Why,  I  suppose  a  check  for  $20,000,  Gus." 

"A  check  for  $20,000!  Thunderation !  The  tight- 
fisted  old  fool  handed  her  a  $10  bill,  and  Will  Clark 
says  he'll  be  blessed  if  he  has  ever  given  her  a  penny 
since ;  and  here  I've  been  wasting  bouquets  and  a 
whole  week's  time  on  the  second  daughter,  and " 

And  then  Gus  chewed  the  end  of  his  cigar  violently, 
and  wiped  the  cold  drops  of  perspiration  from  his 
forehead.  He  was  a  broken-hearted  victim  of  mis- 
placed confidence. 


159 

I  told  him  to  cheer  up.  I  told  him  that  he  was  like 
all  of  us — that  it  goes  against  the  reason  of  a  young 
man  nowadays  to  take  an  old  man's  extravagant  daugh- 
ter for  nothing.  I  told  him  that  once  we  had  visions 
of  supporting  our  fathers-in-law — of  giving  them  large 
sums  of  money;  but  now,  alas!  things  have  changed, 
and  fathers  who  deceive  us,  as  you  have  just  been 
deceived,  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  run  at  large. 
They  should  be  instantly  arrested.  They  are  confi- 
dence men — stumbling  blocks  and  snares  in  the  pathway 
of  innocent,  confiding  young  men. 

"Alas,  Eli!"  he  sighed,  as  the  big  tears  rolled  down 
his  cheeks,  "when  will  we  poor  innocent  young  men 
cease  to  be  deceived  by  our  sweethearts'  fathers? 
There  ain't  any  more  honest  love.  It  is  all  planning 
and  plotting,  lying  and  conspiracy,  Eli.  The  old 
women  lie,  and  say  the  girls  have  large  fortunes.  Old 
men  talk  to  unsuspecting  young  men  about  establish- 
ing $500,000  banks.  Brothers  lie  and  say  their  sisters 
have  large  expectations,  and  the  girls — even  the  girls, 
Eli — why,  they  lie  their  heads  on  some  sweet  Albert's 
shoulder  down  in  New  York  and  then  come  up  here 
and  make  believe  they  are  not  engaged.  They  take 
our  bouquets  and  bon-bons,  and  then,  alas!  they  let 
us  slide  down  the  pathway  of  life  alone. 

Somebody  should  be  arrested  ! 


UP   TO   SNUFF. 


COLONEL  ALEXANDER,  the  venerable  President  of  the 
Equitable  Insurance  Company,  while  in  Saratoga  always 
keeps  his  pockets  full  of  silver  pieces.  He  keeps  a 
pocketful  of  dimes  and  quarters  for  the  waiters.  He 
has  found  that  the  darky  boys  are  ten  times  as  de- 
lighted at  the  sight  of  a  silver  quarter  as  they  are  at  a 
piece  of  soiled  fractional  currency,  and  that  they  will 
run  just  ten  times  as  far  for  it,  and  bring  just  ten  times 
as  good  a  dinner.  As  the  Colonel  hands  the  pieces 
out,  he  always  whispers  slyly: 

"There,  that  is  for  'snuff,'  my  boy;"  and  all  the 
boys  have  had  Colonel  Alexander's  "snuff"  said  to 
them  so  many  times  that  they  are  all  ready  to  grin  and 
drop  the  quarter  in  their  pockets  as  the  silver  piece 
falls  and  "snuff"  is  uttered. 

Well,  last  night,  the  Colonel  rang  his  bell  about 
twelve  o'clock  for  some  ice- water.  In  a  moment,  the 
darky  was  on  hand  with  a  pitcher.  As  he  set  it  down, 
the  Colonel  tipped  forward  very  ominously  in  his  robe 
de  nuit,  and  handed  the  boy  a  couple  of  bright  silver 
quarters. 

"There,  my  boy,  that's  for  snuff,  you  know,"  said 
he,  as  he  dropped  the  shiny  pieces  into  the  somber 
palm.  Then  the  door  closed,  and  Colonel  A.  went  to 
sleep. 

160 


161 

About  one  o'clock  he  was  awakened  by  a  loud  knock 
at  his  door,  and  then  another. 

Rat!  tat!  tat! 

"Who's  there?"  shouted  the  Colonel  from  his  bed. 

It  was  the  waiter,  who,  not  understanding  Col.  Alex- 
ander's snuff  dodge,  was  pounding  at  the  door  with  a 
bladder  of  maccaboy  in  his  hand. 

"Good  gracious!"  said  the  Colonel,  as  he  rubbed 
his  eyes  and  opened  the  door.  "  What  in  thunder  do 
you  want?" 

"It's  me,  sah,"  said  the  faithful  darky. 

"And  what  do  you  want,  'round  knocking  at  doors 
two  o'clock  in  the  morning  ?  What  in  goodness' 
name ?" 

"But,  sah,  I  is  come  wid  de  snuff!" 

"The  what,  man?"  asked  the  astonished  Colonel. 

"De  snuff,  sah;  and  dis  is  de  best  I  could  do,  foh 
de  peoples  is  all  done  gone  to  bed,  and  de  'backer 
shop  is  all  done  shut  up.  Sarten,  sah,  dis  is  all  de 
snuff  to  be  had,  fer  I'se  perpendickler  to  inquiah  evy 
wha,  sah." 

"O  dear,  this  is  the  worst!"  sighed  the  Colonel,  and 
then  the  ladies,  who  were  listening  to  the  dialogue  over 
the  transept,  say  they  heard  the  disconsolate  man  drop 
heavily  on  his  pillow  and  sigh  as  if  his  great,  good  old 
heart  were  broken. 


A   FLIRTING   DODGE. 


ONE  day  I  saw  a  pretty  young  lady  from  Brooklyn 
flirting  in  a  Saratoga  parlor.  She  was  reported  to  be 
an  heiress,  and  of  course  had  hosts  of  admirers.  There 
seemed  to  be  a  good  deal  of  strife  among  the  young 
gentlemen  as  to  who  should  absorb  this  pretty  heiress. 

Tha't  day  a  handsome  New  York  fellow  got  hold  of 
her  early  in  the  morning,  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  would 
keep  her  away  from  all  the  rest  of  her  admirers  for  the 
rest  of  the  day.  He  must  have  "  buzzed  "  her  for  an 
hour  steady — at  least  until  a  young  Chicago  fellow 
thought  he  never  would  go.  He  despaired  of  getting  a 
word  in  edgeways — this  Chicago  man  did.  If  he  had 
known  the  New  York  fellow  he  would  have  been 
tempted  to  join  in  the  conversation  and  sat  him  out, 
but  the  young  lady  seemed  to  like  the  New  York 
fellow  and  was  bound  to  let  him  have  his  way  clear 
to  the  end.  This  made  it  all  the  worse  for  the  Chi- 
cago gentleman. 

Well,  how  did  the  Chicago  fellow  manage  it  ? 

Why,  he  simply  walked  around  behind  the  New  York 
fellow,  and  remarked  to  a  friend,  just  loud  enough  for 
the  enraptured  lover  to  hear  it : 

"  John,  that  feller  wouldn't  sit  there  talking  so  sweet 
if  he  knew  what  a  fearful  rent  there  was  in  the  back  of 
his  coat,  would  he  ?" 

162 


163 

The  New  York  fellow  overheard  the  remark.  His  look 
of  interest  cooled  in  a  moment.  Then  he  worked  his 
back  around  towards  the  wall,  as  if  he  was  trying  to 
conceal  something.  He  imagined  ten  thousand  people 
were  looking  at  him.  He  didn't  lean  forward  and  look 
sweetly  into  the  young  lady's  eyes  any  more.  He  put 
his  hand  convulsively  around  towards  his  back,  a/temed  I 
a  few  times  in  a  business-like  way,  looked  red  in  the 
face,  and  then  said : 

"  Excuse  me,  Miss  Mollie,  but  I  have  an  engagement 
with  a  friend.  You'll  excuse  me  a  moment,  won't  you  ?" 
and  then  he  shied  off  towards  the  elevator  with  his 
face  to  the  young  lady.  He  didn't  walk  straight,  but 
worked  himself  along  sideways,  keeping  his  back 
towards  the  wall,  and  then  disappeared  up  the  Otis 
elevator,  just  as  the  young  fellow  from  Chicago  sat 
down  by  the  young  lady  and  commenced  his  version  of 
the  oft-repeated  tale  of  love  and  hope. 

Are  such  things  right? 


FALL   OF   ANOTHER   CLERGYMAN. 


IT  is  with  sorrow  that  I  am  compelled  to  chronicle 
the  fall  of  another  clergyman,  and  that,  too,  in  Saratoga. 
The  unfortunate  man  is  the  Rev.  Dr.  Corey,  who  has 
been,  with  Dr.  Deems,  for  many  years  the  spiritualistic 
co-adviser  of  Commodore  Vanderbilt  We  all  know  that 
for  many  years  Dr.  Corey  has  driven  fast  horses  with 
the  Commodore,  but  his  friends  were  not  prepared  to 
hear  of  his  fall  like  a  good  many  other  clergymen, 
through  the  influence  of  woman. 

The  scandalous  story  being  told  by  Dr.  Corey's 
brother  clergymen  ^t  the  "  States  "  to-day,  is  as  follows : 
For  several  weeks  Dr.  Corey  has  been  noticed  at  inter- 
vals to  be  engaged  in  talking  with  a  beautiful  young 
lady  on  the  balcony.  No  other  strange  conduct  was 
noticed,  and  nothing  serious  has  been  thought  of  the 
matter  till  to-day,  when  the  full  particulars  of  the  cler- 
gyman's fall  became  known.  It  seems  that  last  evening 
about  dusk  the  doctor  was  seen  talking  still  more 
earnestly  with  the  same  young  lady,  when  another 
young  lady,  a  friend  of  the  first,  hurriedly  joined  the 
two.  Both  young  ladies  are  highly  connected,  but 
their  names  are  withheld  from  the  public  for  the  pres- 
ent. As  the  second  lady  appeared,  words  ensued,  and 
Dr.  Corey  seemed  to  be  surprised  about  something. 
Stepping  back  a  moment  toward  the  edge  of  the  bal- 

164 


165 

cony,  his  foot  slipped,  and  the  unfortunate  clergyman 
fell  over  the  edge  and  down  into  a  water-sprinkler, 
totally  ruining  the  sprinkler,  and  tearing  a  fearful  rent 
in  his  Gersh  Lockwood  pantaloons.  Before  the  doc- 
tor's fall  became  publicly  known,  he  fled  to  New  York, 
where  he  is  now  keeping  his  room  while  his  family 
tailor  is  trying  to  patch  up  the  difficulty  and  mend  the 
unfortunate  affair. 


THE  SWELL  DRESS-PARADE. 


THE    Seventh    Regiment    went 
to   Boston   on  the   i8th   of  June 
to  attend  the  Bunker   Hill   Cen- 
tennial with  the  swell  5th  Mary- 
land.     The  Regiment   encamped 
on  the  Common — right  in  front 
of  the  aristocratic  Beacon  street 
brown   stone   residences.      All 
the   pretty   girls   in   Boston 
came  down  to  Beacon 
street  to  board  that 
week,  and  then  such 
dancing  and  talking 
and  flirting  as  went 
on!    4 

Of  course, 
everything 
was  done  in  a 
polite  and  cir- 
cumspect manner.  Our  fellows  all  wore  neat  white 
pantaloons  and  sported  white  kids  in  place  of  gigantic 
cotton  gloves.  No  gruff  orders  were  given  by  the 
officers,  but  every  direction  was  made  in  the  shape  of 
a  polite  request.  An  officer  was  not  permitted  to  say, 
rudely, 

"'Right  shoulder  shift—  HARMS!" 


THE  DRESS  PARADE. 


167 

But  he  was  instructed  to  say, 

"Ah,  gentlemen  (smiling  and  bowing  gracefully,  with 
hat  in  hand},  will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  shift  your 
weapons  to  the  other  shoulder?"  and  immediately 
after  making  this  request  he  did  not  shout  in  a  loud 
voice,  HARMS!  but  as  soon  as  the  request  was  com- 
plied with  the  officer  was  instructed  to  remove  his  hat, 
and  say,  "  Thank  you,  gentlemen,"  or  "  Much  obliged  to 
you,"  or  something  of  that  sort,  yeu  kneuw. 

NEW   MANUAL   OF    ARMS. 

This  is  the  way  Col.  Clarke  drilled  the  regiment 
after  it  was  drawn  up  along  the  Beacon  street  resi- 
dences, with  the  beautiful  Boston  young  ladies  in  front, 
kept  back  by  a  guard  of  white  satin  ribbon. 

First  the  polite  drill-master  appeared  before  them, 
smiling  in  his  most  placid  manner — then  politely 
tipping  his  hat  he  saluted  the  line,  and  proceeded  to 
shake  hands  with  the  entire  regiment.  When  this 
was  done  the  regular  drilling  commenced  and  con- 
tinued as  follows: 

Attention,  if  you  please,  gentlemen  !  Ah  (takes  off  hat 
and  bows  sweetly),  thank  you ! 

Will  you  be  kind  enough  to  shoulder  arms  ?  Thanks 
(smiling  and  bowing  with  hat  in  hand),  gentlemen, 
thanks  ! 

Will  you  now  favor  me  by  ordering  arms?  Ah,  thanks, 
gentlemen. 

If  it  is  not  asking  too  much,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to 
order  arms  again  ?  Ah — thanks — (bowing  very  low  and 
taking  off  hat),  you  are  very  kind. 


168 

/  hope  if  not  too  fatiguing,  that  you  will  now  be  kind 
enough  to  present  arms  !  Ah — very  good  (smiles  sweetly], 
I'm  too  obliged  to  you  ! 

If  agreeable  to  you,  will  you  shoulder  arms,  please  ? 
You  are — ah,  very  kind — (bowing) — I'm  so  much  obliged 
to  you ! 

If  not  too  much  fatigued,  gentlemen,  might  I  ask  you 
to  order  arms?  Thanks,  gentlemen.  Ah,  you're  very 
kind !  (Bows  very  low  and  salutes  regiment?) 

You  are  now  dismissed,  gentlemen  \  (Bows  pro- 
foundly?) I'm,  ah — awfully  obliged  to  you.  If  agree- 
able to  you,  ah — I  should  be  happy  to,  ah — meet  you 
again  to-morrow  evening !  Good  day,  gentlemen ! 
(Bows  and  shakes  hands  all  round,  while  the  soldiers 
return  to  flirt  with  the  young  ladies  on  the  balconies?) 


THE    GOOD    MAN. 


Do  not  think  because  I  write 
about  the  follies  and  foibles  of 
Saratoga    that    good    and    true 
men  do  not  sometimes  go  there. 
The   good    man   will    be    good 
everywhere.      He   will    be    just 
till   he   has   no   bread,  just   till 
he    has    no    drink,   just 
§Sk       chained  to  the"  stake,  till 
jgjlfc      he  sees  the  faggots  piled 
fl|         about   him    and   curling 
flames    gnawing    at    his 
quivering    flesh  —  cling- 
ing to  the  throne  of  God. 
In  the  mazes  of  the  dance  you 
will  see  brave  men  with  hearts  to 
love  and  pray;  Christian  mothers 
with  faces  all  aglow  with  the  smiles 
of  Heaven  ;  children  with  beauti- 
ful angel  faces,  and  babes  in  arms, 
sweet     blossoms     born     from    the 
bosom  of  Divinity. 

Last  summer  you  might  have  seen  en- 
acted daily,  at  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
hotels  in  Saratoga,  one  of  the  sweetest 
incidents  in  the  Christian  life.  As  the 


170 

thoughtless  watering-place  throng  swayed  in  and  out 
of  the  great  dining-room,  and  the  endless  clatter  of 
tongues  and  cutlery  seemed  to  drown  every  holy 
thought,  a  silver-haired  old  man  entered  quietly  at  the 
head  of  his  Christian  family  and  took  his  seat  at  the 
head  of  the  table. 

Instantly  the  laughing  faces  of  a  tableful  of  diners 
assumed  a  reverential  look.  Their  knives  and  forks 
rested  silently  on  the  table  while  this  silver-frosted 
Christian,  with  clasped  hands,  modestly  murmured  a 
prayer  of  thanks — a  sweet  benediction  to  God.  The 
scene  lasted  but  a  moment ;  but  all  day  long  the  hal- 
lowed prayer  of  this  good  man  seemed  to  float  through 
the  air,  guiding,  protecting  and  consecrating  the  thought- 
less army  of  wayward  souls. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  find  out  who  this 
grand  old  Christian  was;  but  one  night  it  came  to  us 
all  at  once. 

That  night  a  lovely  Christian  mother  arose  early 
from  the  hop-room,  with  her  two  little  girls,  to  return 
to  her  room. 

"  Why  do  you  go  so  early,  Mrs.  Clarke  ?  The  hop 
in  not  half  over,"  remarked  a  lady  friend. 

"  You  will  laugh  at  me  if  I  tell  you.  Now,  really, 
won't  you,  my  dear?" 

''No,  not  unless  you  make  rrre,"  replied   her  friend. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  this  Christian  mother,  as  she 
leaned  forward  with  a  child's  hand  in  each  of  hers. 
"  You  know  I  room  next  to  that  dear,  good  old  white- 
haired  man,  and  every  night  at  ten  he  does  pray  so 
beautifully  that  I  like  to  go  with  the  children  and  sit 


171 

in  the  next  room  and  hear  him  pray ;  for  I  know  when 
we  are  near  his  voice  nothing  can  happen  to  the  chil- 
dren." 

With  tears  ir.  her  eyes,  her  friend  said,  "  Let  me  go 
with  you ;"  and  right  there,  in  the  middle  of  the  lan- 
ciers,  these  two  big-hearted  Christian  women  went  out 
with  their  children  to  go  and  kneel  down  by  the  door 
in  the  next  room  to  listen  to  the  family  prayer  of  good 
old  Richard  Suydam 


OWED   TO   FRANKLIN   STATUE. 

Read  at  the  Franklin  Statue  Dinner  at  Delmonico's, 
A.    D.,    1872. 

GRATE  statur  !     Immense,  gigantic  Franklyn, 

Made  of  brass  !     We  reverential  bow, 

And  skrape,  and  in  thy  presents  stand 

With  heds  uncuvered.     We  give  thee  glory — praze, 

And  smash  our  Dunlap  hats  and  kry 

Thy  glory  to  yon  shining  Star  ! 

Grate,  noble  sire  !  and  yet,  of  liberty  a  Sun 

Who  cam'st  to  Herald  freedom  and  a  press  unchained — 

Who  took'st  thy  Post  with  patriots  round 

The  Standard  of  thy  kuntry's  struggling  braves, 

And  wrote  thyself  a  Tribune  to  the  startled  World. 

Thou  noble  ded  ! — and  yet  knot  ded,  but  quick 

In  lasting  brass — the  Express  image  of  thy  anshunt  self, 

A  tranquil  Witness  to  the  wond'ring  Globe, 

That  honist  werth  shall  not  eskape  reward  ! 


A   PARROT   STORY. 

MR.  TRAVERS,  who  stammers  enough  to  make  a  story 
interesting,  went  into  a  bird-fancier's  in  Center  street, 
to  buy  a  parrot. 

"H — h — have  you  got  a — a — all  kinds  of  b — b — 
birds  ?"  asked  Mr.  T. 

"  Yes,  sir,  all  kinds,"  said  the  bird-fancier  politely. 

"  I  w — w — want  to  b — buy  a  p — p — parrot,"  hesi- 
tated Mr.  T. 

173 


173 

"  Well,  here  is  a  beauty.  See  what  glittering  plu- 
mage !" 

"I — i — is  he  a  g — g — good  t — talker?"  stammered 
r\  rivers. 

"If  he  can't  talk  better  than  you  can  I'll  give  him 
to  you,"  exclaimed  the  shopkeeper. 

William  bought  the  parrot. 


THE    RAT    STORY. 

"  MR.  TRAVERS,"  says  Jay  Gould,  "  once  went  down 
to  a  dog-fancier's  in  Water  street,  to  buy  a  rat-terrier. 

"'Is  she  a  g — g — good  ratter?' asked  Travers  as  he 
poked  a  little,  shivering  pup  with  his  cane. 

u<Yes,  sir;  splendid!  I'll  show  you  how  he'll  go 
for  a  rat,'  said  the  dog-fancier — and  then  he  put  him 
in  a  box  with  a  big  rat." 

"  How  did  it  turn  out?"  I  asked  Mr.  Gould. 

"Why,  the  rat  made  one  dive  and  laid  out  the 
frightened  terrier  in  a  second,  but  Travers  turned 
around,  and  sez  he — *  I  say,  Johnny,  w — w — what'll  ye 
t — t — take  for  the  r — r — rat?'  " 

TRAVERS    AND   CLEWS. 

IF  any  one  tells  a  good  story  in  New  York,  they 
always  lay  it  to  Mr.  Travers,  just  as  they  always  used 
to  lay  all  the  good  stories  in  Washington  to  President 
Lincoln. 

Henry  Clews,  the  well-known  bald-headed  banker, 
who  always  prides  himself  on  being  a  self-made  man, 
during  a  recent  talk  with  Mr.  Travers  had  occasion 


174 

to  remark  that  he  was  the  architect  of  his  own  destiny 
— that  he  was  a  self-made  man. 

"W — w — what  d — did  you  s — ay,  Mr.  Clews?"  asked 
Mr.  Travers. 

"  I  say  with  pride,  Mr.  Travers,  that  I  am  a  self- 
made  man — that  I  made  myself — " 

"  Hold,  H — henry,"   interrupted    Mr.  Travers,  as   he 

*  dropped    his     cigar,    "w — while     you     were    m — m — 

making    yourself,    why    the    devil    d — did — didn't    you 

p — put   some   more   hair   on   the   top    of  y* — your   h — 

head?" 

Mr.  Clews  has  since  invested  75  cents  in  a  wig. 


TRAVERS   ON    FISK   AND   GOULD. 

ONE  day  last  summer,  Colonel  Fisk  was  showing  Mr. 
Travers  over  the  Plymouth  Rock,  the  famous  Long 
Branch  boat.  After  showing  the  rest  of  the  vessel, 
he  pointed  to  two  large  portraits  of  himself  and  Mr. 
Gould,  hanging,  a  little  distance  apart,  at  the  head  of 
the  stairway. 

"There,"  says  the  Colonel,  "what  do  you  think  of 
them  ?" 

"They're  good,  Colonel — you  hanging  on  one  side 
and  Gould  on  the  other  ;  f — i — r — s — t  rate.  But, 
Colonel,"  continued  the  wicked  Mr.  Travers,  buried 
in  thought,  "w — w — where's  our  Saviour?" 

Mr.  Travers,  who  is  a  vestryman  in  Grace  Church, 
says  he  knows  it  was  wicked,  but  he  couldn't  have 
helped  it  if  he'd  been  on  his  dying  bed. 


175 
PAWN-SHOP   CLOTHES. 

ONE  of  our  swell  Fifth  Avenue  fellows  was  walking 
in  the  hall  of  the  hotel  last  night,  displaying  a  nobby 
London  suit  of  clothes,  and  smoking  a  4o-cent  "  Henry 
Clay." 

"Hallo,  Gus!"  said  a  friend,  taking  hold  of  his  coat 
lappel,  "why,  I  thought  that  coat  was  new;  but — ah — 
I  see  now!  it  was  bought  out  of  a  pawn-shop." 

"  Out  of  a  pawn-shop  ?  I  guess  not !  "  says  Qus, 
highly  insulted. 

"  Yes,  Gus,  you  bought  that  coat  out  of  a  pawn  shop 
— now  own  up — didn't  you?" 

"  Look  here,  Charley  Gibson  (frowning  terribly),  I 
don't  allow  any  one  to  insult  me,  and  I  won't  stand 
any  more  of  your  devilish  insin " 

"'  But,  Gus,  what's  the  use  of  being  so  airy  about 
it  ?"  interrupted  Charley.  "  I'll  bet  you  a  basket  of 
champagne  that  you  did  buy  this  coat  out  of  a  pawn- 
shop anyway." 

"All  right,  it's  a  bet.  Now  come  down  to  Brooks 
Brothers  and  I  will  show  you  the  man  who  cut  it." 

"  Well  then,  of  course  you  bought  it  out  of  a  pawn 
shop;  you  didn't  buy  it  in  a  pawn-shop,  did  you,  Gus?" 


WHERE    DUCKS   LIVE. 

ON  Saturday  a  Dutch  'longshoreman  strode  up  by 
the  Stock  Exchange,  with  a  half-dozen  ducks  strung 
across  his  shoulders  for  sale.  John  Martine  and  Vice- 
President  Wheelock  were  admiring  the  gamey  birds, 


176 

and  thinking  how  they  would  taste  served  up  at  Del- 
monico's,  when  Martine  observed  : 

"  A-ha !  Johnny,  nice  ones,  ain't  they  ?  Where  did 
you  shoot  them — on  the  wing?" 

"  Mine  Gott,  no !  I  shoots  him  on  de  tail,  on  de 
back — anywhere  he  dam  shtrike  !" 

"What  do  the  ducks  live  on,  Johnny?" 

"  O,  they  lives  un  corn,  und  peans,  und  bread,  und 
saurkrout,  und " 

"  But  they  can't  get  those  things  to  live  on  in  the 
winter,  man!" 

"  O,  den  dey  lives  un  de  schore !" 


FIVE   HUNDRED   DOLLARS    SAVED. 

THIS  morning  an  old  fellow's  horses  ran  away  near 
the  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  and  went  smashing  along 
down  Twenty-fourth  Street  to  Bull's  Head.  People 
thought  the  whole  fire  department  was  coming.  Timid 
men  dodged  with  their  horses  to  get  away  from  the 
shower  of  wheels  and  axle-trees,  and  old  ladies  screamed, 
tipped  over  their  Domestic  sewing  machines,  and 
pressed  their  frightened  children  to  their  bosoms.  One 
old  man  found  himself  directly  before  the  frightened 
horses,  but  it  did  not  do  him  any  good,  as  he  did  not 
remain  right  side  up  long  enough  to  reap  any  desirable 
benefit  from  the  discovery.  It  did  not  kill  him,  but 
he  looked  very  much  discouraged. 

As  the  old  gentleman  who  owned  the  team  vainly 
tried  after  a  few  minutes  to  separate  the  dead  horses 


177 

from  the  running  gear,  he  lifted  up  his  hands  and 
exclaimed : 

"O  dear!  my  wagon  is  broke!  I  wouldn't  a-had 
this  happen  for  five  hundred  dollars.  I " 

"  But  don't  grieve,  old  man,"  put  in  a  sympathizing 
Bull's  Head  man;  "it  didn't  cost  you  a  cent;  you  had 
it  done  for  nothing,  so  put  up  your  money!" 

And  now  the  old  fellow  really  thinks  he  has  saved 
five  hundred  dollars. 


TIP    OF   THE    FASHION. 

Miss  MOLLIE  BACON,  of  Madison  Avenue,  observed, 
as  she  spread  her  paniers  over  four  seats  in  the 
stage : 

"  I'm  too  delighted,  dear  Eli,  to  have  something,  at 
last,  in  the  tip  of  the  fashion." 

"How  so,  Mollie?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  *  Jennie  June '  says,  '  High-heeled  shoes  are 
very  much  worn  this  winter,'  and  I've  got  a  pair  with 
six  holes  in  'em  !" 


SHIRKING   FROM   WORK. 

THEY'VE  got  a  new  sensation  at  the  Fifth  Avenue 
Hotel — the  fashionable  ladies  have.  It's  a  male  hair- 
dresser. He's  a  handsome  fellow,  too,  and  is  bound  to 
be  quite  a  favorite.  The.  fellows  around  the  hotel  are 
all  jealous  of  him,  and  try  to  quiz  him  on  the  back 
steps  after  he  has  spent  an  hour  or  two  putting  up  a 
young  lady's  hair. 


178 

Yesterday  he  worked  three  hours  on  a  sentimental 
young  lady's  chignon,  and  she  didn't  have  very  much 
hair  either. 

UO  dear,"  exclaimed  my  Uncle  Consider,  "when 
work  is  to  be  done  how  some  men  will  shirk!" 


TRUNK  SMASHERS. 

DAVE  MARKS,  the  famous  Troy  baggage-master  and 
trunk  smasher — the  man  who  slides  trunks  from  morning 
till  night  down  a  plank,  and  bangs  and  slams  them  from 
the  New  York  Central  trains  into  the  Hudson  River 
boats — recently  experienced  religion  over  at  the  Round 
Lake  Camp  Meeting.  Last  night  he  went  to  a  prayer- 
meeting  in  Troy,  and  before  a  large  congregation  of 
worshipers  he  confessed  that  he  had  smashed  thirteen 
million  dollars'  worth  of  trunks  in  twelve  years,  and 
had  been  too  sick  a  good  deal  of  the  time  to  attend  to 
business  personally,  too. 

"  But,  my  dear  brothers  and  sisters,"  he  said,  "  since 
I  experienced  the  '  wrath  to  come,'  I  tell  Brother  Per- 
kins that  any  old  paper  bandbox  of  a  trunk  is  as  safe 
in  my  hands  as  a  Herring's  safe. 

Commodore  Vanderbilt  told  Superintendent  Tousey 
this  morning  that  he  was  going  to  compel  every  bag- 
gage-man on  the  Central  Railroad  to  either  experience 
religion  or  go  to  breaking  stones  for  ballasting  the  road 
He  says  he's  not  going  to  hire  men  and  pay  them  to 
spend  all  their  time  and  strength  working  for  the  New 
York  trunk  makers. 


179 

ELI    ON    DOMINIE    FORD. 

ON  Colfax  Mountain,  N.  J.,  lives  good  old  Dominie 
Ford.  The  Dominie  is  a  good  old  hardshell  Baptist, 
who  distills  apple-toddy  during  the  week  and  makes 
special  prayers  and  preaches  doctrinal  sermons  on 
Sunday.  His  forte  is  praying  for  specific  things,  and, 
like  the  chaplain  in  the  Massachusetts  Legislature,  he 
always  tells  the  Lord  more  than  he  asks  for.  Sometimes 
the  Dominie  commences  his  prayer  "  O  Lord !  thou 
knowest,"  and  goes  on  narrating  what  the  Lord  knows 
for  fifteen  minutes. 

One  day  Uncle  Consider,  Major  Colfax  and  I  called 
on  the  good  old  Dominie,  when  he  prayed  as  follows : 

"O  Lord,  thou  knowest  the  wickedness  and  de- 
pravity of  the  human  heart — even  the  hearts,  O  Lord, 
of  our  visitors.  Thou  knowest  the  wickedness  of  thy 
servant's  nephew,  John  Ford.  Thou  knowest,  O  Lord, 
how  he  has  departed  fiom  thy  ways  and  done  many 
wicked  things,  such  as  swearing  and  fishing  on  Sun- 
day; and  thou  knowest,  O  Lord,  how  he  returned,  no 
longer  ago  than  last  night,  in  a  state  of  beastly  intoxi- 
cation, and  whistling,  O  Lord,  the  following  popular 

air : 

" '  Shoo  fly,  don't  bodder  me  '' 

And  the  Dominie  screwed  up  his  lips  and  whistled 
the  air  in  his  prayer. 

A   HARD    NAME. 

A  NEW  YORKER  was  introduced  to  a  Cleveland  gen- 
tleman to-day,  and  not  hearing  his  name  distinctly, 
remarked : 


180 

"  I  beg  pardon,  sir,  but  I   didn't  catch  your  name." 

"But  my  name  is  a  very  hard  one  to  catch,"  replied 
the  gentleman;  "perhaps  it  is  the  hardest  name  you 
ever  heard." 

"Hardest  name  I  ever  heard?  I'll  bet  a  bottle  of 
wine  that  my  name  is  harder,"  replied  the  New  Yorker. 

"All  right,"  said  the  Cleveland  man.  "My  name  is 
Stone — Amasa  J.  Stone.  Stone  is  hard  enough,  isn't  it, 
to  take  this  bottle  of  wine?" 

"  Pretty  hard  name,"  exclaimed  the  New  Yorker, 
"  but  my  name  is  Harder — Norman  B.  Harder.  I  bet 
my  name  was  Harder  and  it  is/" 

The  joke  cost  Mr.  Stone  just  $27.87. 


ELI   ON   THE    F.  F.  C's. 

THIS  morning  a  well-known  Boston  man  sat  down 
by  Senator  Robertson,  an -old  and  proud  resident  of 
South  Carolina,  on  the  balcony  of  the  United  States 
Hotel  and  commenced  ingratiating  himself  into  the 
Southerner's  feelings. 

"  I  tell  you,  sir,  South  Carolina  is  a  great  State,  sir," 
remarked  Senator  Robertson  enthusiastically. 

"Yes,"  said  the  stranger  from  Boston,  "she  is.  I 
knew  a  good  many  people  down  there  myself,  and 
splendid  people  they  were  too;  as  brave  and  high- 
toned  as  the  Huguenots." 

"You  did,  sir?"  exclaimed  the  Senator. 

Oh,  yes,  sir.  I  knew  some  of  the  greatest  men  your 
State  ever  saw,  sir.  Knew  'em  intimately,  sir,"  con- 


181 

tinued  the  Boston  man,  confidentially  drawing  his  chair 
closer  and  lighting  his  cigar. 

"Who  did  you  know  down  there,  sir,  in,  the  old 
Palmetto  State?"  asked  the  Southerner. 

"Well,  sir,  I  knew  General  Sherman,  and  General 
Kilpatrick,  and " 

"Great  guns!"  interrupted  the  South  Carolinian,  and 
he  kept  on  talking  in  the  same  strain  for  two  hours. 


THE    MEANEST    MAN   YET. 

SOME  gentlemen  were  talking  about  meanness  yester- 
day, when  one  said  he  knew  a  man  on  Lexington 
avenue  who  was  the  meanest  man  in  New  York. 

"How  mean  is  that?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  Eli,"  he  said,  "he  is  so  mean  that  he  keeps 
a  five-cent  piece  with  a  string  tied  to  it  to  give  to 
beggars;  and  when  their  backs  are  turned  he  jerks  it 
out  of  their  pockets! 

"  Why,  this  man  is  so  confounded  mean,"  continued 
the  gentleman,  "  that  he  gave  his  children  ten  cents  a 
piece  every  night  for  going  to  bed  without  their  supper, 
but  during  the  night,  when  they  were  asleep,  he  went 
up  stairs,  took  the  money  out  of  their  clothes,  and 
then  whipped  them  in  the  morning  for  losing  it." 

"  Does  he  do  anything  else  ?" 

"  Yes,  the  other  day  I  dined  with  him,  and  I  noticed 
the  poor  little  servant  girl  whistled  all  the  way  up- 
stairs with  the  dessert;  and  when  I  asked  the  mean 
old  scamp  what  made  her  whistle  so  happily,  he  said : 


182 

''Why,  I    keep    her  whistling   so   she   can't   eat  the 
raisins  out  of  the  cake.'" 


NEWSPAPER    GOKE. 

ONE  day,  while  riding  over  the  Kansas  Pacific  Rail- 
road toward  Carson,  the  train  boy  came  into  a  car  full 
of  miners,  with  Eastern  newspapers. 

"  Her's  yer  Times  'n  Inter-Ocean.  Harper's  Weekly" 
he  shouted. 

An  old  miner,  who  caught  the  last  sentence,  jerked 
up  his  head  and  said  : 

"Harper's  weakly,  schu  say,  boy.  Why,  I  (hie) 
didn't  know  he  was  (hie)  sick  !" 


ELI ,  ON  ANA. 

THERE  was  a  young  woman  named  D ,  whose 

bustle  was  bigger  than  she ;  she  said,  "  I  do  find  the 
times  I  'm  behind,  so  I  '11  just  put  the  Times  behind 
me!" 

The  above  was  parodied  from  this  poem  by  Sir 
Winfield  Scott: 

"  There  was  a  young  man  in  Glen  Cove 
Who  sat  down  on  a  very  hot  stove  : 
When  they  asked,  '  Did  it  burn  ?' 
He  said  'Yes,'  in  the  sternest 
Of  voices — this  youth  from  the  Cove. " 

The  above  is  not  quoted  as  one  of  the  finest  things 
Mr.  Scott  ever  wrote.  Oh,  no.  In  fact,  we  have  na- 
tive poets  who  have  written  grander  things.  For  ex- 
ample, the  inspired  poet  of  Saginaw,  (Michigan) 


183 

speaking  of  the  early  settlement  of  that  country  tunes 
his  liar,  and  sings : 

Once  here  the  poor  Indians  took  their  delights — 

Fished,  fit  and  bled  ; 
Now  most  of  the  inhabitants  is  whites — 

With  nary  red. 


ANIMATE    NATURE. 

LAST  year  I  saw  a  watch  spring,  a  rope  walk, 
a  horse  fly,  and  even  the  big  trees  leave.  I  even 
saw  a  plank  walk  and  a  Third  Avenue  Bank  run, 
but  the  other  day  I  saw  a  tree  box,  a  cat  fish  and 
a  stone  fence.  I  am  now  prepared  to  see  the 
Atlantic  coast  and  the  Pacific  slope.  My  Uncle 
Consider  says  he  saw  a  tree  bark  and  saw  if  holler. 
The  tree  held  on  to  its  trunk,  which  they  were  try- 
ing to  seize  for  board. 


ORIGINAL    POETRY. 

"  ELI  "  says  the  first  composition  he  ever  wrote  ran 
about  thus : 

A  eel  is  a  fish  with  its  tail  all 

the  way  up  to  his  ears  never  fool  with 

powder  eli  Perkins 

P.  S.  They  live  most  any  where  they  can  git 

And  he  says  this  was   the  only  original  poetry  he  ever 
wrote,  and  it  was  composed  by  another  fellow  : 


184 
COMPLIMENTARY: 

THE  editor  of  the  Cleveland  Leader  brought  his  wife 
and  eleven  children — all  boys  and  girls — to  "  Eli  Per- 
kins's "  lecture  on  free  tickets,  and  then  went  home 
and  deliberately  wrote  and  punctuated  the  following : 

"  A  poor  man  fell  over  the  gallery  last  night  while  '  Eli  Perkins' 
was  lecturing  in  a  beastly  state  of  intoxication.'' 


BABIES. 

IN  the  cabin  of  the  steamer  St.  John,  coming  up  the 
Hudson  the  other  evening,  sat  a  sad,  serious-looking 
man,  who  looked  as  if  he  might  have  been  a  clerk  or 
bookkeeper.  The  man  seemed  to  be  caring  for  a  crying 
baby,  and  was  doing  everything  he  could  to  still  its 
sobs.  As  the  child  became  restless  in  the  berth,  the 
gentleman  took  it  in  his  arms  and  carried  it  to  and  fro 
in  the  cabin.  The  sobs  of  the  child  irritated  a  rich 
man,  who  was  trying  to  read,  until  he  blurted  out  loud 
enough  for  the  father  to  hear, 

"  What  does  he  want  to  disturb  the  whole  cabin  with 
that  d baby  for?" 

"Hush,  baby,  hush!"  and  then  the  man  only  nestled 
the  baby  closer  in  his  arms  without  saying  a  word. 
Then  the  baby  sobbed  again. 

"Where  is  the  confounded  mother  that  she  don't 
stop  its  noise?"  continued  the  profane  grumbler. 

At  this,  the  grief-stricken  father  came  up  to  the  man, 
and  with  tears  in  his  eyes,  said:  "I  am  sorry  to  dis- 
turb you,  sir,  but  my  dear  baby's  mother  is  in  her 


185 

coffin  down  in  the  baggage  room.  I'm  taking  her  back 
to  her  father  in  Albany,  where  we  used  to  live." 

The  hard-hearted  man  buried  his  face  in  shame,  but 
in  a  moment,  wilted  by  the  terrible  rebuke,  he  was  by 
the  side  of  the  grief-stricken  father.  They  were  both 
tending  the  baby. 

Mr.  Gough  is  very  fond  of  telling  this  story,  and  Eli 
is  glad  of  it,  for  it  is  a  good  story  and  a  true  one. 


TIGHT   LACING. 

WHY  will  young  ladies  lace  so  tight  ? 

My  Uncle  Consider  says  our  New  York  young  ladies 
lace  tight  so  as  to  show  economical  young  fellows  how 
frugal  they  are — how  little  waste  they  can  get  along 
with.  They  don't  lace  so  as  to  show  their  beaux 
how  much  squeezing  they  can  stand,  and  not  hurt 
'em.  O,  no  ! 


SOM-ET-I-MES. 

THE  other  day,  at  a  dinner,  Jack  Hammond  appealed 
to  several  well-known  lexicographers  as  to  the  mean- 
ing of  the  word  som—et-i-mes. 

"How  is  it  spelled?"  asked  Mr.  Coe.  "Perhaps  it 
is  a  musical  term." 

"Why,  s-o-m  som,  e—t  et,  som-et,  i  som-et-i,  m—e—s 
mes,  som-et-i-mes,"  replied  Jack,  holding  up  the  word 
on  a  piece  of  paper. 

Nobody  could  guess  it.     Three  or  four  Harvard  and 


186 

Yale  men  went  searching  after  the  Latin  root,  and  the 
young  ladies  said,  "We  give  it  up." 

"It  is  very  simple,"  said  Jack;  "it  means  occasion- 
ally. Webster  says,  'sometimes,  adverb ;  occasionally — 
now  and  then  !'  ' 

There  was  a  scattering  among  his  guests,  and  Jack 
finished  his  dinner  alone. 


GRAMMAR. 

THE  grammarian  of  the  Evening  Telegram  came  into 
our  room  yesterday,  and  said : 

"  Do  you  know,  Perkins,  that  table  is  in  the  sub- 
junctive mood?" 

"Why?",   we  asked,  meekly. 

"  Because  it's  wood,  or  should  be."  And  then  he 
"  slid." 

ELI    PERKINS    BLUNDERS. 

RIDING  up  to  the  village  hotel  in 
Courtland,  where  I  was  to  lecture  during 
the  Greeley  campaign,  I  saw  the  big, 
smart  landlord  smoking  a  short  pipe  on 
the  balcony,  while  his  wife  was  sweeping 
around  his  chair. 

"Hallo!     Do  you  keep  this  hotel?"  I 
asked. 

"No,  sir,  I  reckon  not;   this  tavern  keeps  me." 

"I   mean,  are  you  master  here?" 

"Waal,   sometimes    I    am   (looking  at  the  old  lady's 


187 

broom),  but  I  guess  the  boys  an*  I  run  the  stable — 
take  your  hoss?" 

"Do  you  support  Grant?"   I  asked. 

"No." 

"What!  support  Greeley?" 

''  No,  s-i-r." 

"  Thunder,  man  !  You  don't  support  George  Francis 
Train  or  Mrs.  Woodhull,  do  you  ?" 

"No,  sir-r-r-ee !  Look  he-er,  stranger,  I  don't  sup- 
port nobody  but  my  wife  Abby  an'  the  chil'n.  It's 
hard  'nough  to  git  suthin  for  the  chil'n  to  eat,  with- 
out supportin'  Greeley  an'  Grant  an'  such  other  darn 
fool  women  as  Mrs.  Woodhull,  when  taters  ain't  worth 
only  twenty  cents  a  bushel  an'  we  have  to  give  away 
our  apples." 

After  the  delivery  of  this,  I  kept  still  a  few  moments 
but  soon  ventured  to  continue : 

"Got  anything  to  drink   'round  here,  my  friend?" 

"Yes,  everything  drinks  around   here." 

"Any  ales?"  I  mean. 

"  Touch  of  the  rheumatiz  myself — folks  generally 
healthy,  though." 

"  I  mean,  have  you  got  any  porter?" 

"  Yes,  John's  our  porter.     Hold  his  horse,  John." 

"  I   mean,  any  porter  to  drink  ?" 

"Porter  to  drink?  Why,  John  can  drink,  an'  ef  he 
can't  drink  enough,  I  kin  whip  a  right  smart  o'  licker 
myself." 

"  Pshaw — stupid !  Have  I  got  to  come  down  and 
see  myself?" 

"  Yeu  kin  come  down,  Shaw  Stupid,  and  see  yourself 


188 

ef  yeu  want  to — thar's  a  good  looking-glass  in  the  bar- 
room." 

NICE  ARABLE  LAND. 

AWHILE  ago,  the  late  Mr.  Samuel  N.  Pike  sold  an 
amphibious  Jersey  building  lot  to  a  Dutchman.  There 
are  large  tracts  of  land  in  New  Jersey  which  over- 
flow at  high  tide.  The  Dutchman  in  turn  sold  the 
amphibious  building  lot  to  a  brother  speculating  Dutch- 
man as  "nice  arable  land."  Dutchman  No.  2  went 
to  look  at  it  at  high  tide  and  found  it  covered  with 
salt  water,  eels,  and  leaping  frogs.  He  came  back  in 
a  great  fury,  and  sued  Dutchman  No.  i  for  swindling 
him. 

"  Did  you  sell  this  land  for  dry  land  ?"  asked  the 
judge  of  the  sharp  Dutchman. 

"Yah!  It  vasch  good  try  lant,"  replied  the  Dutch- 
man. 

"  But,  sir,  the  plaintiff  says  he  went  to  see  it  and  it 
was  wet  land — covered  with  water.  It  was  not  dry 
arable  land,"  said  the  judge. 

"Yah — Yah!  It  vasch  good  try  lant.  Yen  I  sold 
it  to  my  friend  it  vasch  low  tide!" 


MONEY  CLOSE. 

"How  is  money  this  morning,  Uncle  Daniel?"  asked 
Uncle  Consider,  as  he  shook  hands  with  that  good  old 
Methodist  operator  on  the  street  this  morning. 

"Money's  close  and  Erie's  down,  Brother  Perkins; 
down — down — down  !" 


189 

"  Is  money  very  close,  Uncle  Daniel  ?" 

"  Orful,  Brother  Perkins— orful !" 

"  Wall,  Brother  Drew,  ef  money  gets  very  close 
to-day,"  said  Uncle  Consider,  drawing  himself  up 
close  to  Uncle  Daniel ;  "  ef  she  gets  very  close — close 
enough  so  you  can  reach  out  and  scoop  in  a  few 
dollars  for  me,  I  wish  you  would  do  it." 

Uncle  Daniel  said  he  would. 


INDIFFERENCE. 

"DiD  you  ever  do  anything  in  a  state  of  perfect 
indifference,  Miss  Julia?"  I  asked  an  old  sweetheart 
of  mine  last  night. 

"Why,  yes,  certainly,  Mr.  Perkins — a  good  many 
times." 

"What,  did  it  with  absolute,  total  indifference?" 

"  Yes,  perfect,  complete  indifference,  Eli." 

"Well,  Julia,  my  beloved,"  I  said,  taking  her  hand, 
"  what  is  one  thing  you  can  do  now  with  perfect 
indifference  ?" 

"  Why,  listen  to  you,  Eli/' 

I  postponed  proposing. 


THE   WHISKEY   WAR. 

DURING  the  whiskey  war  in  Hillsboro',  Ohio,  the 
ladies  all  crowded  around  Charley  Crothers's  saloon,  one 
day,  and  commenced  praying  and  singing.  Charley 
welcomed  them,  offered  them  chairs,  and  seemed  de- 
lighted to  see  them.  He  even  joined  in  the  singing. 


190 

The  praying  and  singing  were  kept  up  for  several  days, 
Charley  never  once  losing  his  temper.  The  more  they 
prayed  and  sang  the  happier  Charley  looked.  One  day 
a  gentleman  came  to  Charley  and  broke  out : 

"  I  say,  Charley,  ain't  you  getting  'most  tired  of  this 
praying  and  singing  business?" 

"What!  me  gettin'  tired?  No,  sir!"  said  Charley, 
"If  I  got  tired  of  the  little  singing  and  praying  they 
do  in  my  saloon  here,  what  the  devil  will  I  do  when 
I  go  to  heaven  among  the  angels,  where  they  pray  and 
sing  all  the  time  ?" 

Then  Charley  winked  and  took  a  chew  of  cavendish. 


FUN    IN    WASHINGTON,    OHIO. 

IN  Washington  they  tell  a  story  about  Ralph  John- 
son, who  became  alarmed  when  the  ladies  came  and 
prayed  in  his  saloon.  The  next  day  Ralph  went  to  the 
ladies  almost  broken-hearted,  and  said  if  he  could  only 
get  rid  of  five  barrels  of  whiskey  which  he  then  had 
on  hand  he  would  join  the  temperance  cause  himself. 

"  We  will  buy  your  poisonous  whiskey,  and  pay  you 
for  it,"  said  the  ladies. 

"All  right,"  said  Ralph,  and  he  took  $300  and  rolled 
the  whiskey  out.  The  ladies  emptied  the  whiskey  into 
the  street.  Ralph  joined  the  cause  for  one  day,  and 
then  went  to  Lynchburg,  where  they  have  11,000  barrels 
of  proof  whiskey  in  store,  and  bought  a  new  lot. 

"What  do  you  mean  by  doing  this,  Mr.  Johnson?" 
asked  a  deacon  of  the  church. 

"Well,"  replied  Ralph,  "my  customers  war  a  kinder 


191 

partic'lar  like,  and  that  thar  old  whiskey  was  so  dog-on 
weak  that  I  could  not  sell  it  to  'em  no  how ;  but  it 
didn't  hurt  the  ladies,  for  it  was  just  as  good  as  the 
best  proof  whiskey  to  wash  down  the  gutters  with." 


TERRIBLY   INDIGNANT. 

A  NEW  YORK  rough  stepped  into  a  Dutch  candy 
and  beer  shop  this  morning,  when  this  conversation 
took  place  : 

"  I  say,  Johnny,  you  son  of  a  gun,  give  us  a  mug  of 
bee-a.  D'y'  hear?" 

"  Yah,  yah — here  it  ish,"  answered  the  Dutchman, 
briskly  handing  up  a  foaming  glassful. 

"Waal,  naow,  giv'  us  'nother  mug,  old  Switzercase !" 

The  Cherry  Street  boy  drank  off  the  second %glass 
and  started  to  go  out,  when  the  Dutchman  shouted  : 

"  Here,  you  pays  me  de  monish  !  What  for  you  run 
away?" 

"  'You  pays  de  monish!'  What  do  you  take  me  for? 
I  doan't  pay  for  anything.  I'm  a  peeler — that's  the 
kind  of  man  I  am  !"  growled  the  rough. 

"  You  ish  von  tarn  sneaking,  low-lived  scoundrel  of  a 
thief — that's  the  kind  of  man  I  am!"  shrieked  the 
Dutchman  between  his  teeth  as  the  Cherry  Street  boy 
shuffled  off  towards  another  beer  shop. 


THE   UNSUSPECTING  MAN. 

THE  other  evening,  at  a  fashionable  reception,  Miss 
Warren,  a  well  known  old  maid  from  Boston,  was  prom- 


192 

enacting  in  the  conservatory  with  Mr.  Jack  Astor,  one 
of  our  well  known  New  York  young  gentlemen.  As 
the  music  stopped,  the  two  seated  themselves  under  a 
greenhouse  palm-tree,  and  the  following  dialogue  oc- 
curred : 

"  Nobody  loves  me,  my  dear  Mr.  Astor ;  no- 
body  " 

"  Yes,  Miss  Warren,  God  loves  you,  and  your  mother 
loves  you." 

"  Mr.  Astor,  let's  go  in!" 

And  five  minutes  afterwards  Miss  Warren  was  try- 
ing the  drawing-out  dodge  on  another  unsuspecting 
fellow. 


VERY   DANGEROUS. 

»• 

WHEN  Colonel  Clark  and  Adjutant  Fitzgerald  of  the 
Seventh  Regiment  came  to  the  Grand  Union  to  see 
Jim  Breslin  and  borrow  some  nut-crackers  for  the 
regiment,  John  Cecil  and  Abiel  Haywood  said  it 
wouldn't  do  to  let  'em  have  'em. 

"Why?"  asked  the  Adjutant,  indignantly. 

"  Because  it's  dangerous,"  said  Mr.  John  Cecil. 

"How,  dangerous?" 

"Why,  Colonel,"  said  Mr.  Cecil,  as  he  wiped  his 
head  with  a  red  bandana  handkerchief,  "don't  you 
know  that  when  the  boys  crack  the  nuts  they'll  be 
liable  to  burst  the  shells  against  the  kernel?" 

Mr.  Cecil  told  Colonel  Boody  that  he  didn't  go  to 
Saratoga  to  dance  and  such  frivolous  enjoyment,  "  Oh, 
no!" 


193 

"What  for,  then,  John?"  asked  Charley  Wall. 

*'  Why,  I  came  especially  to  drink  the  healing  waters 
as  prepared  by — by — by —  " 

"  By  Jerry,  the  handsome  Grand  Union  bartender," 
put  in  Major  Selover. 

A  suit  for  libel  is  pending. 


WOOD. 

AN  agricultural  parser,  discussing  the  fuel  question, 
says  that  dry  wood  will  go  further  than  green.  My 
Uncle  Consider  says  that  depends  on  where  you  keep 
it.  He  says  that  some  of  his  green  wood  went  three 
or  four  blocks  in  one  night 


SARATOGA   BETTING, 

SOME  of  the  ladies  here  who  go  to  the  races  are  op- 
posed to  betting.  But  to  keep  up  the  interest  they 
sometimes  make  mock  bets  of  $10,000  and  $20,000. 
Yesterday  one  of  our  most  charming  young  ladies  made 
a  real  bet  of  three  cents  on  Longfellow  with  a  well- 
known  beau  noted  for  his  gallantry.  Longfellow  got  a 
good  start  and  won  the  race,  and  then  the  lady  insisted 
on  her  three  cents,  but  it  looked  so  trivial  that  the  gen- 
tleman didn't  think  it  necessary  to  go  to  the  office  and 
get  the  picayune  three  cents  to  pay  it.  This  morning 
the  lady  said  before  a  laughing  crowd  : 

"  Mr.  B.,  ain't  you  ashamed  not  to  pay  me  those 
three  cents?  Now  I  want  them.  I  always  pay  my  bets." 

"All  right,"  replied  the  handsome  .gallant,  and  in  a 


194 

few  moments  he  returned  with  three  exquisitely  cut 
bottles  of  Caswell  &  Hazard's  cologne.  Placing  them 
in  a  chair  beside  her,  he  remarked  with  a  graceful 
bow  : 

"  My  dear  Miss  B.,  I  am  only  too  happy  to  pay  my 
last  bet — please  accept,  with  my  compliments,  these 
three  scents." 


WICKED    AND    PROFANE. 

AN  old  bachelor,  who  hates  women,  said  to-day  that 
he  didn't  want  to  go  to  heaven. 

"Why?"  asked   one  of  our  round-dance  Christians. 

"  Because  it  will  be  full  of  women — not  a  d — d  man 
there,*',  replied  the  wicked  man. 

He  was  like  the  old  lady  who  was  afraid  to  ride  on 
the  mail  train  because  there  were  no  females  there. 


MR.    MARVIN'S   BLUNDER. 

EX-CONGRESSMAN  MARVIN,  who  is  the  "  Warwick 
behind  the  throne"  in  the  new  United  States  Hotel, 
called  on  a  carpenter  yesterday  and  said  : 

"  Mr.  Thompson,  we  have  a  nice  bar-room,  and  we 
want  a  handsome  bar  made.  Who  can  make  the  best 
one?" 

"Well,  I-I-d-d-don't  'zackly  know  who  could 
m-m-make  a  handsome  b-bar;«<«V/,"  stammered  Mr. 
Thompson. 

"  No,  no.     I  want  a  nice,  handsome  bar  made " 

"  W-w-well,  dang  it !    if  you  want  a  handsome  bar- 


195 

maid,  why  don't  you  go  over  to  T-T-Troy  and  get 
one?" 

"  No,  no,  no,  man  !  I  mean  who  made  these  I  see  all 
around  town  ?" 

"  Great  guns,  Marvin !  h-h-how  the  d-d-devil  do  I 
know  who  made  all  the  b-b-barmaids  around  town  ? 
I  d-d-don't  know — and  damfi  care  who  did,"  shrieked 
Mr.  Thompson. 

POOR   BUT    HONEST. 

WHEN  I  lectured  in  Cooperstown,  they  told  me  about 
an  English  joker  who  dined  with  Fennimore  Cooper 
before  he  died  in  1851.  Cooper  was  then  the  most 
conspicuous  man  in  the  little  town  which  nestles  at  the 
feet  of  a  high  mountain  and  reposes  on  the  shores  of 
Seneca  Lake.  One  day,  while  Mr.  Cooper  was  dining 
the  Englishman,  he  poured  out  some  native  wine — wine 
from  grapes  raised  in  his  own  garden.  Taking  up  a 
glass  and  looking  through  it  with  pride,  Cooper  re- 
marked : 

"Now,  Mr.  Stebbins,  I  call  this  good,  honest  wine." 

"  Yes,  Mr.  Cooper,  I  agree  with  you ;  it  is  honest 
wine — 'poor  but  honest.'" 

Mr.  Cooper  went  on  telling  his  Injun  stories. 

PRECISE    STATEMENTS. 

MR.  CARTER,  of  the  American  Literary  Bureau, 
which  furnishes  most  of  the  lecturers  in  the  United 
States,  has  been  sued  for  saying  that  a  certain  lecturer 
"appeared  on  the  platform  half  sober." 


196 

"What  do  you  mean,  sir?"  asked  the  indignant 
lecturer. 

"Why,  I  meant  precisely  what  I  said,  sir,"  replied 
Mr.  Carter.  "  I  said  you  were  half  sober.  I'm  an  ex- 
act man,  sir.  I  only  saw  half  of  you — the  -side  towards 
me.  I  only  spoke  of  that.  I  don't  mean  to  insinuate 
that  the  other  half  wan't  sober,  too.  Oh,  no !  But, 
sir,  it  would  have  been  preposterous  for  me  to  say  any- 
thing about  the  half  which  was  out  of  sight.  Wouldn't 
it,  sir — me,  a  precise  man  ?" 

EARLY   TO    BED. 

WHEN  a  kind  old  father  on  Fifth  avenue  sailed  for 
Europe,  six  weeks  ago,  he  gave  his  engaged  daughter 
permission  to  "  sit  up  "  with  her  beau,  a  young  stock- 
broker, till  a  quarter  of  twelve  every  night.  I  guess 
when  that  fond  father  comes  home  and  finds  out  that 
this  young  man  has  been  "  sitting  up  "  and  holding 
that  fond  daughter's  hand  till  three  o'clock  every 
morning,  under  the  impression  that  three  is  quarter 
of  twelve — Veil,  I  guess  that  young  fellow  will  think 
he  is  engaged  to  the  daughter  of  a  thrashing-machine. 


PERSONAL  MATTERS. 

GENERAL  LE  FEVRE,  of  Ohio,  who  was  in  twenty-six 
engagements  and  nineteen  battles  during  the  late  war, 
has  at  last  become  engaged  again.  This  is  the  first 
Saratoga  engagement  this  season.  The  enemy's  name 
is  Miss  Snow,  and  the  General  has  been  for  several 


197 

days  on  the  point  of  doing  as  General  Burgoyne  did 
eighty  years  ago — surrendering.  At  last  he  did  it  this 
morning.  I  knew  there  was  something  up,  because  this 
morning  when  I  asked  the  young  ladies  why  Miss 
Snow  was  like  ice  water,  they  all  answered  : 
"Why,  because  she  is  good  to  lay  fever." 
The  General  said  this  morning,  "  I  don't  dance  the 
lancers,  but  I  should  like  to  lance  the  dancers — espe- 
cially the  venerable  Mr.  Jarvis,  of  Boston,  who  keeps  all 
the  young  ladies  dancing  the  round  dances,  just  because 
some  Boston  physician  said  dancing  would  cure  his 
dyspepsia." 

VERY    PERSONAL. 

Mr.  Scattergood  is  the  name  of  the  minister  who 
addressed  the  Round  Lake  camp-meeting  people  yes- 
terday. The  name  is  very  appropriate  for  a  minister, 
but  there  would  be  no  end  to  its  value  in  a  shot- 
gun. 

The  Misses  Money,  of  Cincinnati,  are  quite  belles  at 
Saratoga.  They  are  named  Miss  Julia  and  Miss  Sara. 
This  is  not  the  first  time  they've  had  ceremony  at 
Saratoga. 

Among  a  delegation  of  Chinamen  at  Saratoga  are 
Ah  Sin,  Flir  Ting,  Drin  King,  Sle  Ping,  Che  Ting,  Ste 
Ling,  Smo  King,  Dane  Ing,  Gamb  Ling,  and  Dress  Ing. 


SMALL  FEET. 

THERE  is  an  Englishman  in  Saratoga  whose  feet 
are  so  large  that  he  rests  easier  standing  up  than 
lying  down. 


198 

Mrs.  Thompson  says  he  objected  to  taking  a  walk 
yesterday  on  the  ground  that  it  was  so  damp. 

"What  difference  does  that  make?"  I  asked. 

"  Oh,  his  feet  are  so  large  that  so  much  of  him  is 
exposed  to  the  damp  earth  that  he  takes  cold." 

"  But  suppose  he  is  compelled  to  go  out  very  rainy 
weather — what  does  he  do?"  I  asked. 

"  Why,  if  he  has  to  stay  any  great  length  of  time, 
he  generally  sits  down  on  the  grass  and  holds  his 
feet  up  !" 


LITTLE    PERKINSISMS. 

LEVITY      IS     THE      SOUL      OF     WIT. 

ONE  day  Mr.  Galbraith  asked  old  Mr.  Hathaway,  of 
Canandaigua,  if  his  habits  were  regular  and  uniform. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hathaway,  "  they  are  very  regular 
and  very  uniform,  and  a  d d  many  of  'em,  too!" 

"WE  consume  annually  whiskey  and  tobacco  enough 
to  pay  for  all  the  bread  eaten  in  the  United  States." — 
George  Bayard  in  Brooklyn  Argus. 

Well,  who  says  you  don't  ? 


LAST  Saturday  night  was  a  drencher — a  regular 
north-easter  of  a  storm — and  the  theaters  were  empty. 
Dan  Bryant  had  a  large  audience,  but — they  staid  at 
home.  Dan  said  they  were  like  horses— checked  by 
the  rein. 


LLOYD  ASPINWALL  is  like  bell-metal — he's  a  Lloyd 
with  tin. 

Now  the  negroes  in  Kentucky  village  have  got  a 
school-house  ghost.  Should  it  be  called  the  village 
Blacks' -myth  ? 

199 


200 

"MUZZLIN',  Eli,"  said  my  Uncle  Consider,  "makes  a 
dog  safe,  while  muslin  makes  a  young  lady  very  dan- 
gerous ;  still,  in  hot  weather,  they  both  want  muzzlin'l " 


THE  stylish  young  lady,  with  hair  a  la  Pompadour, 
won't  allow  anybody  to  up  braid  her  but  her  hair- 
dresser. 


Sic  TRANSIT. — The  sickest  transit  I  know  of  is  the 
Greenwich  Elevated   Railroad. 


CAPITAL  OFFENSE. — They  are  going  to  make  it  a 
capital  offense  for  one  man  to  elope  with  another 
man's  wife  in  California.  It  always  was  a  capital 
offense  here,  if  the  man's  wife  was  pretty  ! 


SELF-POSSESSION. — Donn  Piatt  owns  a  jackass, 

"WELL,"  said  Speaker  Elaine,  "Col.  Sanford  of 
Brooklyn  and  I  were  traveling  down  South.  The  feed 
had  been  bad  for  a  day  or  two,  when  one  day  at  a 
railroad  station  we  had  a  big  plate  of  hash.  Col. 
Sanford  stuck  his  knife  into  it  and  looked  at  it  kinder 
curiously,  when  the  landlord  remarked  : 

"  *  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that  thar  dish,  stranger, 
's  longs  bull  pups  is  worth  more'n  hogs.'  '* 


THE  Saratoga  jail  is  so  insecure,  so  totally  unsafe, 
that  the  inmates  are  afraid  to  keep  any  jewelry  about 
them  for  fear  thieves  at  large  will  break  through  and 


201 

steal  it.  When  .a  man  is  taken  up  there  now,  he  sends 
his  valuables  to  John  Morrissey  for  safe-keeping.  So 
many  diamonds  and  laces  have  been  stolen  out  of  the 
jail  that  President  Mitchell  says  they  have  determined 
to  paint  and  whitewash  it,  or  do  something  to  make  it 
impregnable. 

GENERAL  BACHELOR'S  Geyser  Spring  in  Saratoga  is 
still  spouting.  The  water  bursts  from  the  bowels  of 
the  earth  through  solid  rock  eighty  feet  from  the  sur- 
face, and  then  flies  about  twenty  feet  in  the  air.  A 
Frenchman— Baron  St.  Albe,  from  the  Clarendon — 
went  over  to  see  the  spring  spout  yesterday.  As  the 
volume  of  water  burst  into  the  air,  he  dropped  his  um- 
brella on  the  arm  of  a  young  lady,  and  raising  both 
hands  in  the  air,  is  said  to  have  exclaimed: 

"  Eh !  dis  is  ze  grand  spectakle  !  Suparbe !  Mag- 
nifique  !  By  gar,  he  bust  up  first-rate  !" 

A  BORE  is  a  man  who  spends  so  much  time  talking 
about  himself  that  you  can't  talk  about  yourself. 


A  YOUNG  married  lady  says  Poe's  raven  was  drunk 
all  the  time  it  was  croaking  "  never  more,  never  more," 
on  that  bust  of  Pallas. 

"How's  that?"  I  asked. 

"Why,  Eli,  it  was  a  raven  'on  a  bust.'"' 

The  same  young  lady  insists  that  her  husband  is  a 
living,  personified  poem — not  epigram  or  riddle,  but  a 
cross-stick. 


202 

MR.  JACK  ASTOR  left  Saratoga  yesterday  just  because 
he  wrote  his  name  with  a  diamond  on  one  of  the  French 
glass  windows  at  the  United  States  Hotel  and  Mr. 
Marvin  came  along  and  wrote  under  it: 

"  Whene'er  I  see  a  fellow's  name 

Written  on  the  glass, 
I  know  he  owns  a  diamond, 
And  his  father  owns  an  ass." 

THEY  say  "love  is  blind,"  but  I  know  a  lover  in 
Jersey  City  who  can  see  a  good  deal  more  beauty  in 
his  sweetheart  than  I  can. 


CHICAGO  is  the  center  of  American  civilization  for 
liquor-saloons  and  bad  sidewalks. 


ELI    PERKINS'S   NEW   YEAR'S   CALLS 


FIFTH  HEA VENUE  HOTEL,  i  A.  M.,  Jan.  ith. 

I  DON'T  feel  like  writing  to-day;  my  head  aches.  I 
made  New  Year's  calls  yesterday  —  made  125  calls. 
I  finished  them  about  twelve  o'clock — an  hour  ago. 

I  had  my  call-list  written  off,  and  commenced  at 
Sixteenth  Street,  and  came  down.  My  idea  was  to 
make  125  calls  of  five  minutes  each.  This  would  take 


These  illustrations  were  drawn  by  Tom  Nast,  and  cut  from  his 
Comic  Almanac  published  by  Harpers. 

803 


204 


MAKES  CALLS. 


625  minutes,  or  ten  hours.     I  think  I  did  it.     I  worked 
hard.     I  was  an  intermittent  perpetual  motion.     I  did 

all  any  body  could  do.  If 
any  fellow  says  he  made 
126  calls,  he — well,  he  is 
guilty  of  li-bel.  I  tried  it. 
I  made  my  i25th  call  with 
my  eyes  closed,  and  at  my 
1 2  6th  I  swooned  on  the 
hall  stairs.  Nature  was  ex- 
hausted. Oh !  but  wasn't 
it  fun!  It  is  nothing  to 
make  calls  after  you  have 
been  at  it  a  spell.  The  last  twenty  calls  were  made 
with  one  eye  closed.  I  was  actually  taking  a  mental 
nap  all  the  time.  My  tongue  talked  right  straight 
ahead,  from  force  of  habit.  Talking  came  as  easy  as 
ordinary  respiration.  All  I  had  to  do  was  to  open  my 
my  mouth,  and  the  same 
words  tumbled  out : 

"  Hap — new  year  Mis- 
Smitte!" 

"Ah!  Mr.  Perkins,  I'm 
delighted—" 

"  May  you  have  man'- 
hap 'returns — by — by !" 

"  But  arn't   you   going 
to  drink  to — " 

"Thank— SpleaSUr  "FIRST  CALL." 

(drank)  ;  may  you  live  (hie)  thousand  years. 

By — by"  (sliding  into   the  hall  and  down  front  steps). 


205 


I  started  at  noon.     Made  first  call  on  young  lady. 

She  said,   "You  have  many  calls  to  make.      Won't 
you  fortify  yourself  with  a  little  sherry  ?" 

I  said  I  (hie)  would,  and  drank  small  glass. 

Called  next  on  married  lady  on  Fifth  Heavenue. 

She  said,  "  Let's  drink  to  William — you  know  Will  is 
off  making  calls  on  the  girls." 

"  All  right,  Mrs.  Mason ;"  then  we  drank  some  nice 
old  Port  to  absent  William. 

On  Forty-ninth  Street  met  a  sainted  Virginia  mother, 
who  had  some  real  old  Virginia  egg-nog. 

Very  nice  Southern  egg-nog.     Abused  the  Yankees, 
and  drank  two  glasses  with  Virginia  mother. 

On  Forty-sixth  Street  met  a  lady  who  had  some  nice 
California  wine.  Tried  it.  Then  went  across  the  street 
with  Demociatic  friend  to  say  New  Year's  and  get 
some  of  old  Skinner's  1836  brandy.  Got  it.  Mrs. 
Skinner  wanted  us  to 
drink  to  Skinner. 
Drank  to  Skinner,  and 
ate  lobster  salad. 

Met  a  friend,  who 
said, 

"Let's  run  in  and 
(hie)  see  Coe,  the  tem- 
perance man." 

Coe  said, 

"Ah,  happy  time! 
Let's  drink  to  my  wife." 

Drank    bottle    of    champagne    to    Mrs.    Coe  —  then 
drank  to  children. 


DRANK  TO   CHILDREN." 


206 

Drove  round  to  Miss  Thompson's  on  Fifth  Heavenue. 
Thompson's  famous  for  rum  punch.  Tried  two  glasses 
with  Miss  Thompson.  Very  happy.  House  looked 
lovely.  Ate  brandy  peaches.  Good  many  lights. 
Pretty  girls  quite  num'rous.  Drank  their  health 
Drank  claret.  Then  drank  Roman  punch.  Went  out, 
leaving  a  Dunlap  hat  for  a  Knox,  and  a  twelve-dollar 
umbrella  in  the  hat  .rack. 

Happy  thought !  Took  Charley  Brown  in  the  car- 
riage with  driver,  and  got  on  outside  with  myself. 

Charley  said,  "  Let's  drop  in  on  the  Madison  Heav- 
enue Masons."  "All  right."  Dropped  in. 


THE  UMBRELLA  AND   HAT. 


"  LEFT  OVERCOAT. 


Miss  Mason  says,  "Have  some  nice  old  Madeira?" 
Said,  "Yes,  Miss  Mas'n,  will  have  some,  my  dearie." 
Drank  to  Mrs.  Mason,  and  ate  boned  turkey  to  young 
ladies.  Young  ladies  dressed  beau'fully — hair,  court 
train,  and  shoes  a  la  Pompadour.  Left  overcoat  and 
umbrella,  and  changed  high  hat  for  fur  cap.  Saw  a 


207 


span  of  horses  in  a  carriage 


drawn  by  Charley  King. 
Charley  was  tightually 
slight.  Said  he'd  been 
in  to  Lee's,  eating  boned 
sherry  and  drinking  pale 
turkey. 

Now  all  called  on  the 
Lambs  on  Thirty-fourth 
Heavenue.  Old  Lamb 
was  round.  "Lam's 
Champ's  very  good," 
says  Charley.  Also 
drank  brandy  peaches 


here,  and  v  ate 
more  pony 
brandy.  Young 
ladies  beau'ful 
—  high  -  heeled 
dress  and  shoes 
cut  decollete. 
Great  many  of 
them.  Nice  Ro- 
man punch  with 
monogram  on  it. 
Had  fried  sand- 
wich with  bran- 
dy on  it.  Pre- 
sen ted  large 
bouquet  in  cor- 
ner  to  Mrs. 
Lamb.  Ex- 


'SLID   DOWN." 


208 


changed    hat    for    card-basket,    and    slid    down    front 
banisters. 


Ml 


CALLED    BETWEEN   CALLS. 


"  CARD-BASKET." 

Called  on  Vanderbilt.  Hang 
(hie)  Vanderbilt!  Vanderbilt 
didn't  rec'v  calls.  Carried  off 
card  basket  and  hung  Charley's 

hat  on  bell-knob.  Used  Van's  cards  to  make  other 
calls  with.  Kept  calling.  Called  steady.  Called  be- 
tween calls.  Drank  more.  Drank  every  where.  Young 
ladies  more  beauful.  Wanted  us  to  come  back  to 
party  in  the  evening.  Came  back.  Grand  party. 
Gilmore  furnished  by  music.  Drank  more  lobster 
salad.  Drank  half  a  glass  of  silk  dress,  and  poured 
rest  on  skirt  of  Miss  Smith's  champagne  in  corner. 
Slumped  plate  gas-light  green  silk  down  on  to  nice 
ice-cream.  Dresses  wore  white  tarletan  young  ladies 
cut  swallow  tail.  Sat  on  young  lady's  hand  and  held 
stairs.  Very  (hie)  happy.  Fellows  had  been  drinkin'. 

ii  P.  M.     Left  party.     Carriage  outside  wanted  me 


209 


to  get  into  Fred  Young  and  prom'nade  over  to  the 
Stewarts.  Roman  punch  had  been  drinking  Fred.  He 
invited  8  other  horses  to  get  into  the  fellows  and  ride 
around  to  Stewards.  Stewart  tight  and  house  closed 
up.  Left  pocket-book  in  card-basket  outside,  and  hung 
watch  and  chain  on  bell-knob. 


DRANK   MORE   LOBSTER  SALAD 


'CUT  SWALLOW  TAIL." 


Called  on  the  Fergisons.  All  up.  Had  old  Bur- 
gundy. Fergison's  a  brick.  Took  sherry.  Beau'ful 
young  lady"  dressed  in  blue  Roman  punch.  Opened 
bottle  of  white  gros  grain  trimmed  with  Westchester 
county  lace.  Drank  it  up.  Fellows  getting  more 
tete-uly  slight.  Drank  Pompadour  rum  with  young 
lady  dressed  a  la  Jamaica.  Hadn't  strength  to  refuse. 
Drank  hap'  New  Year  fifteen  times — then  got  into 
Fifth  Heavenue  Hotel,  and  told  the  driver  to  drive 
round  to  the  carriage.  Came  up  to  letter,  and  wrote 
this  room  for  the  Daily  Com(h\c}vertisers.  Pulled  coat 


210 


LEFT  OUTSIDE." 


"  WANTED  ME  TO   GET  INTO    FRED." 


off  with  the  boot-jack,  and  stood   self  up  by  the  regis- 
ter to  dry.     Then  wrote  (hie) wrote  more (hie). 


U LI    PlRK(hic)lNS. 


HOW    ELI    PERKINS    LECTURED    IN    POTTS- 
VILLE. 

(From,  an  Article  written  by  Mark  Twain  for  Harper's  Magazine?) 


THE  Pottsvillians  resolved  to  have  a  course  of  lect- 
ures last  winter.  Every  town — that  is,  every  town  that 
pretends  to  be  any  town  at  all 
nowadays — must  branch  out  in  a 
course  of  lectures  in  the  winter. 
So  the  chief  citizens  of  Pottsville 
got  together  last  Fall  and  decided 
that  they  would  have  a  course  of 
six  lectures.  They  also  voted  that 
they  would  have  a  course  of  lectures 
that  would,  to  use  a  Pottsville  ex- 
pression, knock  the  spots  off  of  any  course  of  lectures 
ever  delivered  in  Pottsville.  Then  they  wrote  to  the 
American  Literary  Bureau  at  the  Cooper  Institute  to 
send  them  six  lecturers,  at  $100  each.  One  man  for 
theology,  one  for  brass-band  rhetoric,  one  for  oratory, 
one  poet,  one  reader,  and  one  humorist.  The  Bureau 
finally  made  selections  as  follows : 

Theology,  .  .  ELI  PERKINS,  .  .  $100 
Oratory \  .  .  DANIEL  O'CoNNEL,  .  100 
Rhetorician,  .  .  JOSH  BILLINGS,  .  .  100 
Humorist,  .  .  WENDELL  PHILLIPS,  .  100 
Poet,  .  .  .  EDGAR  A.  POE,  .  .  100 
Reader,  .  .  CARDINAL  MCCLOSKEY,  100 


211 


$600 


As  soon  as  it  was  known  in  Pottsville  that  Mr.  Per- 
kins was  selected  to  open  the  course,  the  committee 
addressed  him  a  note  telling  him  that  he  was  engaged 
in  Pottsville,  and  asked  a  speedy  reply. 

Mr.  Perkins  replied  as  follows  : 

"Ax  LARGE  IN  ILLINOIS,  Dvc.  i. 
"  MILO  HUNT, 

"  Chairman  Lecture  Committee, 

"  Pottsville, 

"Dear  Sir: 

"  Yours  informing  me  that  I  am  engaged  in  Potts- 
ville is  received.  Very  well  ;  if  she  is  young  and 
wealthy  I  will  keep  the  engagement.  In  fact,  young 
or  old  I'll  keep  the  engagement  at  all  hazards — or 
rather  at  Pottsville.  Have  no  fears  about  my  being 
detained  by  accidents.  I  have  never  yet  failed  to  be 
present  when  I  lectured.  Everything  seems  to  impel 
me  to  keep  this  engagement.  Everywhere  here  in 
Illinois  the  people  follow  me  around  in  great  crowds 
and  enthusiastically  invite  me  to  go  away.  Illinois 
railroad  presidents  say  they  will  cheerfully  supply 
me  with  free  passage  on  the  trains  rather  than  have 
me  remain  in  the  State  another  night ;  and  almost 
every  railroad  president  in  Ohio  and  Pennsylvania, 
including  Mr.  Tom  Scott,  has  supplied  me  with 
perpetual  free  passes — hoping  I  may  be  killed  on  the 
trains. 

"So  I'll  be  with  you  dead  or  alive.  If  I  am  dead, 
please  have  it  fixed  so  that  holders  of  reserved  seats 


213 

will  be  entitled  to  a  front  seat  at  the  funeral,  where 
they  can  sit  and  enjoy  themselves  the  same  as  at  the 
lecture.- 

"You  ask  me  about  my  fee.  It  is  usually  $99.50 
per  night.  If  your  Association  feels  poor,  I  don't 
mind  throwing  in  the  ninety-nine  dollars,  but  I  have  a 
little  professional  pride  about  sticking  to  the  fifty 
cents. 

"  The  lecture  will  commence  at  eight  o'clock  sharp, 
and  continue  an  hour  or  more,  or  until  somebody 
requests  the  distinguished  orator  to  stop. 

"  You  ask  me  to  inclose  some  of  my  opinions  of 
the  press  to  be  used  in  advertising  my  lecture.  I  am 
sorry  to  say  that  my  opinions  of  the  press  are  not  very 
flattering.  In  fact,  I  have  the  worst  opinions  of  the 
press  of  any  one  I  know  of.  I  cannot  help  it.  I 
know  them  well,  and  they  are  a  bad,  wicked  set,  those 
press  fellows  are.  I  belong  to  the  press  myself,  and 
you  must  excuse  me  for  not  sending  you  my  opinions 
of  them.  They  wouldn't  like  it. 

"  Mrs.  Perkins  sends  her  regards,  with  the  hope 
that  Heaven  will  continue  to  protect  you  as  it  has 
her, 

"  From  your  friend, 

"ELI  PERKINS." 


This  letter  was  read  before  the  Lecture  Committee, 
causing  much  enthusiasm.  Pottsville  was  immediately 
placarded  with  large  posters  announcing  the  coming 


214 

of    the     distinguished     lecturer.       One    placard    read 
thus:  x 


CITIZENS,  RALLY! 

Whereas,  that  notorious  humorist, 
ELI  PERKINS, 

has  been  infesting  the  Western  States  and 
depopulating  her  large  cities,  and  now 
threatens  to 

LECTURE 

our  unfortunate  citizens  at  the 

Pottsville  Baptist  Church,  Jan.  $d, 

unless  he  is  paid  a  large  sum  of  money 
to  desist ;  therefore,  all  patriotic  citizens 
are  called  upon  to 

RALLY 

at  the  Baptist  Church  that  same  evening, 
Jan.  3d,  and  hold  an  indignation 

MEETING 

to  protest  against  this  impending  calamity. 
By  order  of 

LECTURE  COMMITTEE. 

Tickets  to  indignation  meeting,  50  cts. 


These  handbills  caused  great  excitement  in  Pottsville. 
Everybody  was  on  tip-toe  to  see  and  hear  the  dis- 
tinguished lecturer.  On  the  day  of  his  expected 


215 

arrival  great  crowds  of  people  thronged  the  depot, 
hoping  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  distinguished  visitor. 

At  length  he  came,  but  in  such  a  quiet,  modest 
manner  that  no  one  saw  him.  While  great  crowds  of 
Pottsvillians  were  watching  the  train  with  strained 
eyes  Mr.  Perkins  quietly  slipped  out  of  the  emigrant  car, 
with  his  umbrella  in  one  hand  and  carpet  bag  in  the 
other,  walked  up  to  the  Pottsville  House,  and  sat 
down  in  the  billiard  room. 

The  arrival  of  the  distinguished  stranger  was  thus 
announced  by  Col.  Ramsey  in  the  Miner 's  Journal \ 
next  morning: 

DISTINGUISHED  ARRIVAL. — A  remarkable  old  gentle- 
man with  German  silver  spectacles,  long  drab  overcoat, 
and  a  Greeley  looking  carpet-bag,  arrived  at  the 
Pottsville  House  yesterday  from  the  Pittsburgh  train. 
The  old  man  wabbled  up  to  the  counter,  took  off  his 
old  slouch  hat,  solemnly  shook  hands  with  Mr.  Jerry 
Griffith,  wiped  his  bald  head  with  an  old  r^d  bandana 
handkerchief,  looked  over  his  glasses,  and  wrote, 

CONSIDER    PERKINS  (at  large). 
ELI    PERKINS,  his  nevvy,  do. 

"Have  a  room,  Mr.  Perkins?"  asked  Mr.  Griffith,  as 
he  pressed  the  blotter  over  the  old  man's  name. 

"O  no,  thank  ye,  lan'lord." 

"Have  supper,  sir?" 

"  No,  I  guess  not.     Eli,  my  nevvy,  and  I,  speak " 

"  But  let  me  take  your  carpet  bag,  Mr.  Perkins," 
interrupted  Mr.  Griffith. 

"No,  I'm  obleeged  ter  you,  lan'lord — Eli  and  I " 


"  Well,  goodness  gracious,  old  man  !  what  can  I  do 
for  you  ?  What " 

"  O,  nothin'  'tall,  Ian 'lord.  We  jes  thought  we'd  like 
to  A-R-R-I-V-E  here ;  that's  all.  We've  been  knockin' 
'round  through  Pennsylvania  right  smart,  an'  it's  a 
good  while  since  we've  'rived  at  a  hotel,  an'  I  thought 
I'd  like  to  'rive  here  with  my  Eli  to-night.  You  see, 
lan'lord,  my  nevvy  is  an  edicated  young  man,  an'  he's 
goin'  to  lectur  the  edicated  classes  here  in  Pottsville 
to-night,  an  we  want  to  jes  sit  'round  the  halls  here 
an'  wait  till  the  time  comes  ;  that's  all." 

Our  reporter  called  on  Mr.  Perkins  early  this  morn- 
ing and  found  him  engaged  in  writing  his  great  lecture 
on  a  backgammon  board  in  the  billiard-room. 

"  Have  you  any  press  notices  of  your  coming  lecture, 
Mr.  Perkins — something  to  republish  in  the  Journal?" 
asked  our  reporter. 

"  Press  notices,  young  man !"  said  Mr.  Perkins, 
"  Why,  yes,  bushels  of  'em.  I've  done  nothing  but 
write  .press  "notices  for  the  last  month.  I " 

"  What !  you  don't  write  your  own  press  notices,  do 
you,  Mr.  Perkins?" 

'*  Sartainly,  young  man,  sartainly,"  replied  Uncle 
Consider,  as  he  fished  files  of  the  Congressional  Globe, 
Chicago  Times,  and  other  newspapers  out  of  his  over- 
coat, pocket.  "  Look  a  here  !  See  what  the  Chicago 
Times  says!"  and  the  old  man  put  on  his  glasses  and 
read  as  follows : 

When  "  Eli  Perkins "  delivered  his  great  lecture  in  the  Illinois 
House  of  Reprehensibles,  there  was  a  great  rush — hundreds  of  peo- 
ple left  the  building,  and  they  said  if  he  had  repeated  it  the  next 
night  they  would  have — left  the  City. — Chicago  Times. 


217 

"  That's  complimentary,  Mr.  Perkins,"  replied  our 
reporter.  "Have  you  got  anymore?" 

"  Bushels  of  'em,  sir — b-u-s-h-e-1-s.  Let  me  read  you 
this  from  the  Yale  College  Currant"  and  the  old  man 
continued  to  read : 

It  is  proper  to  say  that  Mr.  Perkins  delivered  his  great  lecture 
before  the  faculties  of  Yale,  Vassar,  and  Harvard  Colleges — ever 
heard  anything  about  him. —  Yale  College  Courant. 

"  Very  complimentary,  Mr.  Perkins,"  observed  our 
reporter  enthusiastically.  "  Have  you  other  criti- 
cisms ?" 

"  Bushels  of  'em,  young  man,  wagcn  loads.  Want  to 
hear  what  the  Christian  Union  says  about  Eli's  great 
lectur?" 

"  You  don't  say  the  Christian  Union  compliments  him 
do  you  ?" 

"  Sartenly.  Let  me  show  you,"  and  Uncle  Consider 
put  his  ringer  on  this  paragraph  and  handed  it  to  our 
reporter : 

We  never,  but  once,  experienced  more  real,  genuine  pleasure 
than  when  this  eloquent  man,  Mr.  Perkins,  closed  his  remarks. 
That  occasion  was  when  we  won  the  affections  of  a  beautiful 
young  lady,  and  gained  a  mother-in-law — and  then  saw  that 
mother-in-law  SWEETLY  AND  SERENELY  PASS  AWAY. 

" Beautiful  criticisms!  beautiful,"  exclaimed  our  re- 
porter, grasping  the  old  man  by  the  hand. 

"  If  you  call  that  beautiful,  young  man,  just  hear 
what  Henry  Ward  Beecher  says  about  Eli." 

"Does  Henry  indorse  him,  too?"  asked  our  reporter. 

"  Indorse  him  !  I  guess  he  does.  Just  listen  now  and 
hear  what  Henry  wrote  to  Wilkes*  Spirit  of  the  Times : 


218 

"Words  cannot  describe  the  impressive  sight."  (Thafs  the  way 
Henry  commences.  Then  he  goes  on.)  How  sublime  to  see  Mr. 
Perkins  standing  there  perfectly  erect,  with  one  hand  on  his 
broad,  massive,  thick  skull,  talking  to  the  educated  classes — to  see 
the  great  orator  declaiming,  perfectly  unmoved,  while  streams  of 
people  got  up  and  Went  out !  How  grand  a  spectacle,  as  joke  after 
joke  fell  from  the  eloquent  lips  of  this  Cicero  of  orators,  to  watch 
the  enthusiastic  crowds  arising  majestically  like  one  man,  and 
waving  their  hands  as  they  clamorously  demanded  their  money  back 
at  the  box-office. 

"And  Henry  wrote  that,  Mr.  Perkins?" 

"Sartinly;  and  just  listen  to  what  De  Witt  C.  Tal- 
mage  says  !  Listen " 

"No;  I  hear  enough!  Let  me  go!"  exclaimed  our 
reporter,  and  he  fled  back  to  the  Journal  office. 

The  reserved  seat  tickets  to  the  great  lecture  read 
as  follows  : 


"ELI    PERKINS  "(AT  LARGE): 

HIS    TALK  ABOUT  SARATOGA. 

AND  WHAT  HIS   COUSIN   JULIA,    UNCLE    CONSIDER,  AND   HIS    FRIENDS 
THE  EDITORS,  DOCTORS  AND  LAWYERS  SAID  AND  DID  THERE. 


MR.  PERKINS  "  distributes  a  $17.00  Chromo  to  all  who  remain 

to  the  end  of  the  Lecture. 

Parties  of  six  iuho  sit   the   Lecture  out  iuill  be  given 
A    HOUSE    AND    LOT. 


Tickets  admitting  a  Man  and  Wife  (his  own  Wife)  to  Reserved 
Seats,  $1.00.     Single  Men  admitted  for  75  Cents. 

ADMIT    ONE. 

PPLEASE  DON'T 
POTTSVILLE  OPERA  HOUSE,  Jan.  •$£.  L  TURN  OVER. 


It  was  noticeable  at  the  lecture  in  the  evening  that 
many  people  came  especially  to  get  the  chromos.  One 
party  of  six  slept  entirely  through  the  lecture,  awaking 


219 


ELDER  CLEVELAND. 


just  in  time   to  claim   the   house   and    lot.     The  house 
and  lot  was  a  smoke  house  and  a  lot  of  ashes. 

p, : — -,         At  eight    o'clock   the   great   orator 

j  stepped  upon  the  platform  accom- 
|  panied  by  Elder  Cleveland,  who 
officiated  on  the  Sabbath  from  the 
same  desk.  The  church  was  crowd- 
ed. After  the  applause  had  some- 
what subsided,  Brother  Cleveland 
arose,  and  said : 
"  Brothers  and  Sisters — I  have  the  pleasure  of  intro- 
ducing to  you  to-night  Brother  Perkins,  from  New  York. 
I  am  told  that  he  is  to  deliver  a  humorous  lecture,  but 
I  wish  you  all  to  bear  in  mind  that  this  is  the  house 
of  God." 

As  Elder  Cleveland 
finished,  Mr.  Perkins 
stepped  forward,  pulled 
off  his  audience,  and, 
bowing  to  his  overcoat, 
said: 

I  used  to  object  to 
being  introduced  to 
strangers ;  and  for  hun- 
dreds and  hundreds  of 
years,  I  never  permit- 
ted myself  to  be  intro- 
duced to  anybody — till 
I  got  well  acquainted 
with  them.  (Laughter?) 


my 


MelvMe  D.  Landon. 


220 

friends,  that  I  ought  to  tell  you  how  I  came  to  deliver 
this  lecture.  Well,  it  was  this  way  :  I  was  riding  in 
the  cars  the  other  day  with  an  old  Granger  who  lives 
just  over  the  Pennsylvania  line  in  Ohio.  As  we  rode 
along,  I  looked  out  of  the  car  window  and  whistled 
one  of  my  favorite  tunes  like  this : 


"  Did  you  make  up  that  tune  ?"  inquired  the 
Granger. 

"  Yes,  sir,"  I  replied.  I  do  that  kind  of  thing  all 
the  time.  My  name  is  Perkins.  I'm " 

"What!  Eli  Perkins?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"The  man  who  lectures?" 

"Yes,  sir;  I'm  going  to  Marietta  now." 

"Going  to  marry  who?" 

"I  mean  I'm  going  to  Mari — etta." 

"  Yes,  I  heard  you  say  so.  Nice  girl — rich,  I  'spect, 
too,  ain't  she?" 

"No,  sir;  you  don't  understand  me.  I'm  going  to 
lecture  at  Marietta.  I'm " 

"  Then  you  really  do  lecture,  do  you  ?"  continued 
the  Granger. 

"Why,  of  course  I  do." 

"  Been  lecturing  much  in  Ohio  ?" 

"Yes — a  good  many  nights." 

"Well,  now,  Mr.  Perkins,"  said  the  Granger,  as  he 
dropped  his  voice  to  a  confidential  whisper,  "  why 


221 

don't    you    lecture    over    in    Pennsylvania  ?      We   just 
hate  Pennsylvania,  we  do!" 

The  whole  audience  were  now  in  tears,  one  above 
the  other,  and  continued  so  while  Mr.  Perkins  spoke 
for  an  hour  as  follows  : 


Glorious  Constitution 

forefathers  Bunker  Hill 

*     Gen.  Washington  Stars  and  Stripes     * 

Beautiful  woman  —  libert    forever 


The  great  orator  concluded  his  lecture  by  saying  : 
"  The  wealthy  young  ladies  in  this  audience  will  now 
have  an  opportunity  of  taking  the  lecturer  by  the 
hand."  No  one  in  the  vast  audience  moved  toward 
the  speaker.  But  when  he  remarked,  "  The  lecturer 
will  now  be  pleased  to  shake  hands  with  all  young 
ladies  under  twenty  years  of  age,"  there  was  a  great 
rush  for  the  speaker's  platform.  For  over  an  hour  Mr. 
Perkins  shook  hands  with  long  rows  of  young  ladies- 
all  under  twenty  years  of  age.  Then  putting  his 
hundred  dollars  in  his  pocket  the  great  orator  took 
the  train  for  Philadelphia. 


SCARING   A   CONNECTICUT    FARMER. 


THE  Hon.  Charles  Backus,  of  the  San  Francisco 
minstrels,  was  once  censured  by  the  Speaker  of  the 
California  Legislature  for  making  fun  of  his  brother 
members.  This  broke  poor  Charley's  heart,  and  he 
joined  a  minstrel  company,  so's  to  be  where  no  one 
would  grumble  when  he  indulged  in  a  little  pleasantry. 

The  other  day,  Mr.  Backus  rode  up  through  Stam- 
ford, Conn.,  with  Mr.  Lem  Read,  the  bosom  friend  of 
the  lamented  minstrel,  Dan  Bryant.  As  the  train 
stopped  before  the  Stamford  station  for  water,  Mr. 
Backus  saw  a  good  old  red-faced  Connecticut  farmer 
sitting  in  the  station  reading  the  Brooklyn  scandal. 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  me  get  a  good  joke  on  that 
old  duffer,  Lem?"  asked  Mr.  Backus,  pointing  to  the 
old  farmer, 

"Yes,"  said   Lem;  "le's  see  you." 

"Well,  you  wait  till  jes'  before  the  train  starts,  Lem, 
and  I'll  show  you  fun — fun  till  you  can't  rest.  Jes' 
you  wait,"  said  Charley,  laughing  and  pounding  the 
palm  of  his  left  hand  with  his  ponderous  right. 

"All  right,  I'll  wait,"  said  Lem. 

When  the  train  came  to  a  full  stop,  Mr.  Backus 
jumped  off,  telling  his  friend  Lem  to  save  his  seat, 
"for,"  said  he,  "as  soon  as  the  bell  rings  I  want  to 
bound  back  on  the  train." 

Then  Mr.  Backus  rushed  up  to  the  innocent  farmer, 


223 

snatched  the  paper  from  his  hands,  stamped  on  it  with 
a  tragic  stamp,  and  shaking  his  clenched  fist  in  the 
poor  man's  face,  exclaimed, 

"O,  you  old  rascal!  I've  found  you  't  last,  you  mis- 
erable old  scapegrace — now  I'm  goin'  to  lick  the  life 
out  of  you — you  contemptible  old  scoundrel,  you — 
you " 

Ding-a-ding  !  ding-a-dong !  ding-a-ding !  went  the 
bell,  drowning  Charley's  voice,  and  the  train  began 
moving  out. 

"Yes,  /'//  lick  you,"  said  Charley.  "I'll  get  an  ox 
whip  and " 

And  then  he  jumped  back  from  the  astonished  farmer 
and  got  on  the  last  car  of  the  train  moving  out. 

The  old  farmer  was  astonished.  He  stood  up  be- 
wildered. His  knees  quaked  and  his  German  silver 
glasses  fell  on  the  floor.  Then  gathering  himself  to- 
gether, he  picked  up  his  newspaper  and  glasses  and 
started  for  the  train. 

"  Whar's  the  man  who  wanted  to  lick  me?"  he  shout- 
ed. "  Whar's  the  man  who  called  me  a  scoundrel  ? 
Whar's " 

"Here  he  is,"  said  Charley  from  the  rear  platform, 
as  he  held  his  thumb  derisively  to  his  nose  amid  the 
laughter  of  the  passengers.  "Here  I  am,  sir — I'm  your 
Roman — take  me " 

Just  then  the  bell  went  ding-a-ding  again,  and  what 
do  you  think  ?  Why,  the  train  backed  back !  It 
backed  poor  Charley  right  into  the  hands  of  the  infu- 
riated farmer,  who  took  off  his  coat  and  went  for  that 
poor  fun-loving  minstrel.  Expressed  by  the  types,  if 


224: 

I  am  compelled  to  write  it,  he  went  for  that  poor  min- 
strel about  thus  : 

ST.    BoxSDVcccKCL! 

"You  want  to  lick  me,  do  you?"  said  the  farmer, 
jumping  onto  the  platform,  while  Charley  ran  through 

the  car.     "  You  miserable  dandy !     You  want  to '' 

And  then  he  chased  that  poor  minstrel  through  the 
cars  with  his  cane  in  the  air,  while  his  big  fist  came 

down  on  his  back  like  a  trip- 
hammer. "  You've  found 
me,  have  you?  Yes,  I  guess 
you  have !"  said  the  old 
farmer,  as  Charley  left  his 
hat  and  one  coat-sleeve  in 
his  infuriated  grasp.  "Evi- 
dently you  have." 
",  GUESS  YOU  HAVE  FOUND  ME!"  Mr  Backus  said,  as  he 

washed  off  the  blood  with  Enoch  Morgan's  Sapolio, 
and  went  in  to  interview  a  tailor  in  New  Haven  two 
hours  afterwards, 

"I  guess  the  next  time  I  want  to  make  Lem  Read 
laugh  I  won't  try  to  scare  a  Connecticut  farmer.  Oh 
no!  I'll  get  some  pugilist  to  fan  me  with  an  Indian 
club,  or  go  and  sleep  under  a  pile  driver.  You  hear 
me!" 


ELI   PERKINS   AS   A   BALLOONATIC. 


HIS     TRIP     IN     THE     TRANSATLANTIC      BALLOON. 

MR.  PERKINS,  having  been  invited  while  at  Saratoga 
to  return  to  New  York  and  take  passage  in  the  great 
transatlantic  balloon  with  the  other  journalists,  replied 
as  follows  to  the  proprietor  of  the  newspaper,  who  also 
owned  the  balloon  : 

SARATOGA,  July  4. 

Gentlemen :  I  received  your  note  this  morning,  in- 
viting me  to  go  up  in  the  balloon.  You*say  you  desire 
me  to  go  as  the  representative  of  the  Daily  Bugle — to 
be  the  official  historian  of  the  first  great  aerial  voyage 
across  the  Atlantic.  You  also  say : 

"  While  your  going,  Mr.  Perkins,  might  not  contribute  any  great 
principle  to  science,  and  while  we  have  nothing  against  you  person- 
ally, still,  your  departure  would  gratify  the  American  people,  and 
you  would  be  enabled  to  carry  out  that  beautiful  theory  of  moral 
philosophy — '  the  greatest  good  to  the  greatest  number.'  " 

I  thank  you,  gentlemen,  for  your  nattering  invitation, 
which  I  herein  accept.  I  don't  know  what  I  have 
done,  or  why  you  single  me  out  and  invite  me  to  go 
away,  unless  it  is  your  desire  to  lift  me  up  and  improve 
my  condition.  However,  I  will  make  positive  arrange- 
ments to  go  in  your  balloon  any  time  after  the  2oth 
of  August.  I  have  consulted  with  many  of  my  friends 
here,  and  they  all  advise  me  to  go.  Of  course  it  makes 
them  feel  sad,  but  they  are  glad  to  make  the  sacrifice 


226 

— glad  to  contribute  the  life  of  one  they  love  so  well 
to  the  cause  of  science.  My  uncle  Consider  says  the 
sadness  of  my  fixed  departure  would  be  somewhat  alle- 
viated if  he  could  only  be  assured  that  I  would  never 
return. 

"  Sunset "  Cox  says  I  have  the  proper  specific  levity 
— that  I  am  light-hearted  and  light-headed,  and  am 
just  the  person  to  go — just  the  one  to  give  earliest 
news  of  sunsets,  falling  stars,  and  aurora-borealicusses 
and  other  astronomical  phenomena. 

You  ask  me  what  I  desire  to  take  as  luggage,  offer- 
ing me  any  space  which  I  may  desire.  First  of  all,  I 
should  like  to  take  several  Saratoga  young  ladies. 
They  like  to  take  up  a  good  deal  of  room,  but  I  assure 
you  they  are  very  light.  They  are  anything  but  solid 
young  ladies.  Then,  as  we  drift  into  new  celestial 
worlds,  it  is  well  to  display  the  judgment  of  Noah  in 
looking  out  for  the  species.  I  don't  think  Noah  would 
have  taken  Mr.  Sumner  or  A.  T.  Stewart.  Mr.  Vander- 
bilt  or  Mr.  Saxe  or  General  Nye  would  do  far  better. 
I  do  object  to  Mr.  Sam  Cox,  who  has  proved  himself 
of  no  particular  value  in  establishing  a  new  population. 
In  case  the  balloon  is  too  heavy,  the  young  ladies  are 
willing  to  be  thrown  out. as  ballast.  It  is  thought  that 
they  would  float  away  very  gracefully — as  Virgil  says: 

"Sic  itur  ad  astra." 

Twelve  young  ladies  here  to-day,  with  Worth  dresses, 
Colgate's  perfumery,  and  pearl  powder,  only  weigh  98 
pounds. 

I   should  like   also  to  take  my  horse  and    Brewster 


227 

dog-cart.  We  may  land  miles  from  any  street  cars 
and  out  of  the  sight  of  any  omnibus;  besides,  it  will 
be  nicer  to  drive  into  town  in  style  any  way. 

Here  is  a  list  of  other  luggage  which  I  desire  to  take 
either  as  baggage,  ballast,  or  company,  or  to  make  into 
gas: 

Names.  To  be  used  for.  Weight. 

G.  F.  Train,    ....     for  pure  wind, 190  Ibs. 

Schuyler  Colfax,     .     .     .  for  hydrogen  gas,        ...  10  Ibs. 

4  Congressional  Globes,  .     for  dead  weight,       .     .     .      479,628  tons. 

200  doz.  champagne,  .     .  for  water, 41  Ibs. 

$9,000 for  curiosity 76  Ibs. 

12  cows, for  company, 3>983  Ibs. 

8  barrels  water,     .     .     .     for  scrubbing  floor,     .     .     .  310  Ibs. 

Hair,  paint,  cotton,     .     .  for  young  ladies,      ....  988,231  Ibs. 

19  carrier  pigeons,    .     .     for  pigeon  pie, 41  Ibs. 

12  Ibs.  butter for  greasing  dogcart,     ...  9  Ibs. 


Total,     • $32,491 

I  should  also  like  to  take  up  a  watch  dog  and  double- 
barreled  shot-gun,  to  be  used  in  case  Mr.  Wise  and  I 
disagree  about  the  meals  served  at  table,  or  to  prevent 
my  being  called  too  early  in  the  morning.  My  theory 
to  ascend  about  two  miles,  and  then  go  straight  across 
to  Buckingham  Palace,  and  put  up  with  Mr.  Bucking- 
ham one  night,  and  then  go  on  to  Canton.  In  case  I 
consider  it  dangerous  or  disagreeable  to  ride  in  the  air, 
I  shall  instruct  Mr.  Wise  and  the  boys  to  strap  the 
balloon  to  the  deck  of  a  steamer,  or  lace  it  tight,"  if  the 
ladies  did  not  object,  to  a  train  of  cars.  Borne  along 
at  the  rate  of  twenty  miles  an  hour  on  a  freight  car,  Mr. 
Wise  could  have  ample  opportunity  to  make  his  experi- 
ments with  air  currents  and  toll-gates  and  things.  I 


228 

really  believe  that  the  safest  way  to  do  is  to  all  get 
in  the  balloon,  put  it  on  a  clipper  ship,  and  let  the  wind 
blow  us  anywhere  except  over  large  islands  or  con- 
tinents. 

If  everything  is  satisfactory,  and  you  will  send  me  a 
few  thousand  dollars  to  buy  champagne  and  cigars  and 
breastpins  and  a  loaf  or  two  of  bread — an  absolute  ne- 
cessity, you  know,  when  you  are  going  to  travel — if  you 
will  do  all  this,  why,  I'll  take  your  money  now,  and  say- 
ing, "  May  heaven  bless  your  great  enterprise,"  put  it  in 
my  pocket,  where  you  will  always  know  where  it  is. 
Yours  warmly,  ELI  PERKINS. 


THE    TRIP. 

NOTWITHSTANDING  the  famous  balloon  burst,  and 
Wise  and  Donaldson  got  into  a  bitter  personal  quarrel, 
the  former  withdrawing  from  the  expedition,  "  Eli  Per- 
kins" continued  to  make  the  trip,  sending  back  the 
following  carrier  pigeon  dispatches : 

[To  the  Editor  of  the  Daily  Bugle] 

I  send  you  this  by  the  carrier-pigeon  Ariel.  .  The  bal- 
loon is  sailing  well.  The  collapse  was  a  ruse.  We 
"busted"  her  last  night  to  get  the  people  out  of  the 
yard.  Then  Mr.  Donaldson  and  myself  inflated  her 
again  with  gas  which  we  had  with  us,  and  sailed  away 
at  eight  P.M.  According  to  the  barometer  we  are  now 
suspended  in  mid-heavens  at  968  east  latitude  and  8 
degrees  ante-meridian.  We  passed  San  Domingo  thirty- 
seven  miles  east  of  the  planet  Vesuvius  at  eleven  o'clock 


229 

M.D.  this  forenoon.  I  am  navigating  the  balloon  alone, 
and  Donaldson  and  Lunt  are  feasting  on  the  pigeons 
and  shooting  at  each  other  with  pistols.  Wise  sits  in 
the  stern  of  the  boat  with  a  navy  revolver,  and  Donald- 
son sits  in  the  bow  with  a  shot-gun  loaded  to  the  muz- 
zle with  peas  and  billiard-balls.  It  is  very  amusing  and 
instructive.  If  I  hadn't  gone  along  to  act  as  mediator 
and  navigator,  I  think  science  would  have  suffered. 

This  morning  at  three  o'clock  and  ninety-four  min- 
utes N.B.,  while  we  were  sailing  along  over  Cape  Cod, 
Mr.  Wise  came  up  to  my  room,  rang  the  bell,  and 
wanted  to  know  whose  side  I  was  on. 

"  On  the  side  of  science,"  sez  I,  "of  course." 

"  No,  no  !  Mr.  Perkins,",  he  said  in  great  agitation, 
"I  mean  on  which  side  are  you  in  the  great  fight?" 
Then  he  cocked  his  gun. 

I  told  him  I  wasn't  on  any  side.  I  also  stated  to  him 
that  I  was  a  peace  man — that  I  came  in  the  balloon 
purely  for  science. 

"  Then,  Mr.  Perkins,"  he  said,  looking  at  his  gun, 
"  I  propose  to  kill  you.  You  and  Donaldson  are  mu- 
tineers. I  will  give  you  four  minutes  to  join  my  side." 

Then  I  joined  his  side,  just  to  please  him,  and  he 
gave  me  two  navy  revolvers  to  defend  ourselves  against 
Mr.  Donaldson,  who  was  turning  hand-springs  and 
cart-wheels  on  the  deck  in  the  most  threatening  man- 
ner. 

A  little  later,  and  Mr.  Donaldson  pointed  his  shot- 
gun at  me  and  whispered  in  my  ear.  He  said,  "Mr. 
Perkins,  I  will  give  you  $11  if  you  will  join  my  side." 
I  took  the  money  and  joined.  Then  we  pointed  our 


230 

shot-guns  and  revolvers  directly  at  Mr.  Wise's  legs, 
and  told  him  to  keep  quiet.. 

A  little  later — about  nine  s.c. — Mr.  Wise  offered  me 
$27  to  abandon  Mr.  Donaldson  and  come  over  to 
him.  I  took  the  money,  and  saying,  "  It  is  all  for 
science,"  I  came  over  to  him.  Then  we  aimed  our 
revolvers  at  Donaldson. 

So  I've  been  going  back  and  forth  all  night.  I 
have  made  large  sums  of  money,  and  put  it  in  the 
rear  end  of  my  dog-cart,  where  I  can  drive  off  with 
it  as  soon  as  we  land.  I  suppose  I  have  made  $19,- 
ooo  within  the  last  hour  in  breaking  up  the  balance 
of  power  between  the  balloonatics. 

It  is  very  cold  here.  There  is  great  coldness  be- 
tween Mr.  Wise  and  Donaldson,  and  there  is  where  I 
am — between  them.  The  theory  that  Mr.  Wise  ever 
had  a  warm  heart  is  completely  exploded  when  you 
see  the  icicles  hanging  on  the  end  of  his  nose  and  on 
his  cold  shoulder,  which  he  keeps  towards  us. 

We  have  now  gone  up  to  a  great  altitude,  say  230 
miles.  We  can  easily  see  people  on  the  moon.  We 
have  discovered  that  the  specks  on  the  sun  are  made 
of  German  silver.  The  milky  way  is  only  a  dense 
fog,  with  droves  of  mosquitoes  that  have  got  lost 
from  New  Jersey.  The- light  young  ladies  from  Sara- 
toga, whom  we  took  in  for  ballast,  have  all  been 
thrown  out.  They  astonished  us  by  going  on  up 
higher  than  the  balloon.  Several  have  sailed  off 
towards  Mars — latitude  east  of  New  Jersey  and  longi- 
tude 90  deg.  Fahrenheit.  I  computed  it. 

At  four  o'clock  M.D.  we  passed  General  Butler.     He 


231 

found  the  easterly  currant,  and  stole  it  and  ate  it  up 
before  we  arrived.  He  is  now  looking  for  prunes  and 
dates.  About  this  time  we  met  with  an  accident. 
Our  silverware  disappeared.  We  are  now  roasting  the 
pigeons  over  a  kerosene  lamp  and  eating  them  with 
our  fingers.  We  have  passed  Australia  and  Harlem 
and  Peoria  (111.).  We  may  make  a  landing  at  New- 
gate to  see  friends.  Don't  look  for  our  return  to-day. 

SECOND    CARRIER-PIGEON    DESPATCH. 

10  o'clock  D.D. —  She  moves  lovely.     A  heavy  swell 
just   struck  the  balloon.      We   immediately  threw  him 
overboard.     Our   chaplain   has   just    struck    for   higher 
wages.     His  wages  are   four  miles   high  now,  and   still 
he    is    not    satisfied.     He    struck   with   his    left    hand. 
He  wants   to  organize  a  base-ball  club.      He  is  not   a 
proper  man  for  a  scientific  expedition.     We  shall  throw 
him  out. 

THIRD    DESPATCH. 

11  o'clock,    F.R.S. — Have   thrown    the   chaplain    and 
Wise    out.      They    have    done    nothing    but    eat    the 
pigeons  and  drink  the  water  which  we  brought   up    to 
scrub   the    floor  with.      Our  carriage   horses  are  doing 
well,  and  the  twelve  cows  we  brought  up  for  company 
are   improving   rapidly.     Hay  and   oats  are  cheap,  but 
going   up.     This  morning  I  called    the  police,  and  had 
Mr.  Donaldson  arrested   for  standing   on   his  head   on 
the    top   of   the   balloon.     He   is    now    in    irons.     I'm 
sorry   for  it,  for  he   appears   to   take   quite  an   interest 
in  our  great   scheme.      I   don't  think   Mr.   Wise  does. 


232 

He  spends  all  his  time  wiping  out  his  gun  and   hunt- 
ing around  for  Mr.  Donaldson. 

FOURTH     DESPATCH. 

12  o'clock  post-mortem. — England  in  sight.  We 
can  tell  it  by  the  fog.  We  shall  return  in  about  a 
week.  Mr.  Donaldson  says  he  shall  take  this  same  gas 
back  to  America  and  exchange  it  for  Congressional 
gas  from  the  House  of  Reprehensibles,  which  he  pro- 
poses to  put  in  a  solid  cast-iron  balloon  to  be  pro- 
pelled by  a  canal-boat.  This  is  one  of  Mr.  Wise's 
theories.  It  is  growing  very  cold  here.  My  hands  are 
frozen.  Send  me  some  money  ($)  by  the  pigeon. 
Also,  borrow  a  Testament  from  some  of  the  daily 
newspapers  in  New  York,  if  they  have  one,  and  send 
it  along.  We  shall  stop  with  Mr.  Windsor,  of  Windsor's 
Palace,  to-morrow  night — latitude  west  128  Troy  weight, 
and  longitude  north  from  Pittsburgh,  4,  n,  44.  THE 
DAILY  BUGLE  comes  regularly.  Adieu ! 

Warmly  yours,          ELI  PERKINS,  Airiant. 


THE    SHREWD    MAN. 


MR.  ANDREW  V.  STOUT,  the  Pres- 
ident of  the  Shoe  and  Leather  Bank, 
is  a  shrewd  man — not,  as  Joey  Bag- 
stock  would  say,  "a  dev'lish  sly 
man,"  but  a  keen,  shrewd  financier 
and  business  man. 

A  few  mornings  since,  when  Mr. 
Stout    was     coming    down    in     the 
Broadway  cars,  he  sat  in  such  con- 
MR.  STOUT.  fidential   proximity  to    a   sympathiz- 

ing pickpocket  that  the  latter  was 
tempted  into  the  acceptance  of  Mr.  Stout's  pocket- 
book,  containing  valuable  papers  and  $150  in  green- 
backs. Then  the  pickpocket  said  good  morning  to 
Mr.  Stout,  and  left.  On  arriving  at  the  bank,  Mr. 
Stout  discovered  his  loss.  He  was  astonished  that  he, 
a  shrewd  old  New  Yorker,  should  have  his  pocket 
picked. 

"Pshaw!"  he  said  to  his  secretary,  "no  man  could 
ever  pick  my  pocket,  I  am  too  smart  for  that.  No,  sir. 
I  should  just  like  to  see  any  one  pick  my  pocket,  I 
should!" 

Then  Mr.  Stout's  lip  curled  in  contemptuous  scorn 
at  the  bare  idea  of  such  a  silly  improbability. 


234: 

But  the  pocket-book,  with  the  money  and  valuable 
papers,  was  gone,  and  the  next  day  Mr.  Stout  adver- 
tised in  the  Herald.  He  said  if  the  person  who  took 
his  pocket-book  would  return  the  papers,  he  would  give 
him  the  money  and  $25  besides. 

The  next  morning  he  got  a  confidential  note  from  a 
party  who  said  a  friend  of  his  had  the  pocket-book 
all  safe,  and  that  he  would  call  at  the  bank  the  next 
day  to  arrange  the  matter. 

"  I  wonder  if  this  man  really  will  call  ?"  mused 
the  banker  as  he  wiped  his  eye-glasses  and  cut  off 
a  basketful  of  coupons.  "  I  wonder  if  he  will  be 
such  a  darned  fool  as  that?  But  then  you  can't  ex- 
pect common  men  to  be  as  shrewd  as  bank  presi- 
dents." 

But  sure  enough  the  next  day  the  man  was  at  his 
post. 

"Well,  what  about  the  pocket-book?"  asked  Mr. 
Stout. 

"  Oh,  it's  all  safe,  Mr.  Stout,  and  if  you'll  just  go 
with  me  a  few  blocks  I'll  show  you  the  party  who  has 
your  pocket-book,  with  all  the  memoranda  too.  It's  all 
safe,  Mr.  Stout.  Come!" 

The  stranger  had  such  an  honest  look  that  the 
banker,  who  always  prides  himself  on  his  knowledge  of 
men,  "took  stock  in  him"  at  once. 

"All  right,  my  good  man,  let  me  get  some  money 
to  pay  you  for  your  trouble,  and  I'll  be  with  you," 
said  Mr.  Stout,  looking  at  his  four-hundred-dollar 
watch. 

In   a   few   moments   they   started    off   together — Mr. 


235 


"YOU  JUST  WAIT   OUTSIDE   A 
MOMENT,    MR.    STOUT." 


Stout  and  his  honest  friend,  for  a  Centre  Street  restau- 
rant, where  the  thief  or  finder  was  supposed  to  be. 

"  Now,  you  just  wait  outside 
in  the  front  room  a  moment, 
Mr.  Stout,  and  I'll  go  into  the 
back  room  and  see  the  man 
who  -has  the  money  and  valu- 
able papers,"  said  the  good 
man  as  he  went  into  the  back 
room. 

In    a    moment    Mr.    Stout's 
friend   returned  with  the  mes- 
sage  that   his  friend  wouldn't 
give    up    the    valuable    papers 
in  the  pocket-book  for  $25.     "  He  wants  $50  now,  sir." 
"  But  I  only  advertised  to  give  $25  for  the  papers," 
said  Mr.  Stout,  with  an  eye  to  business.     "  This  is  an 
extortion." 

"Well,"  said  the  kindly-looking 
stranger,  "  I'll  go  back  and  reason 
with  the  gentleman,  and  try  and  get 
the  papers  for  $25."  And  he  dis- 
appeared in  the  back  room  again. 
In  a  moment  he  returned,  smil- 
ing. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Stout,"  he  said,  "  my 
friend  will  take  $25,  but  he  wants 
the  money  before  he  gives  up  the  pocket-book." 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Stout,  blandly,  "here  is  $25. 
Take  it  to  him,  my  good  man,  take  it  to  him,  and  bring 
back  the  papers — quick!" 


HIS   GENTLEMAN    FRIEND. 


336 

"  One  word,  Mr.  Stout,"  said  the  man,  confidentially, 
*'  this  thing^  you  know,  is  to  be  strictly  between  our- 
selves." 

"Yes,  yes;  I've  said  it." 

"And  you  will  never  ask  any  questions,  tell  anything, 
or  seek  further  knowledge,  will  you?" 

"  No,  never,  I  give  you  my  word,  as  President  of  the 
Shoe  and  Leather  Bank,  my  good  man,  not  to  say  any- 
thing about  it,  not  a  single  syllable — not  even  to  my 
wife." 

"All  right,  then — mum  is  the  word,"  said  Mr.  Stout's 
friend,  as  he  put  his  finger  to  his  lips  and  passed  into 
the  back  room  with  the  money. 

Mr.  Stout  waited  patiently  for  his  return — waited  five, 
ten,  fifteen  minutes,  but  alas !  his  friend  never  came 
back,  and  the  shrewd  President  returned  to  the  bank, 
a  sad  and  a  ruined  man.  He  says  his  friend  is  wel- 
come to  the  $25,  but  he  told  Daniel  Drew  that  he 
wouldn't  have  the  story  get  into  print  or  around  among 
his  friends  for  $10,000. 

"No,  sir,  it  wouldn't  be  fair,  Daniel,  would  it?"  said 
Mr.  Stout,  "  when  I  promised — solemnly  promised  the 
man  when  I  gave  him  the  $25  never  to  mention  the 
matter — not  even  to  my  wife." 


LOST  CHILPREN  IN  NEW  YORK. 


"LOST  child!" 
That  used  to  be 
the   cry    along   the 
street,      but     now, 
though  there  are  a 
dozen  children  lost 
every  day  in   New 
York,  the  thing  is  so 
systematized  that  it 
is  impossible  for  a 
child  to  be  lost  for 
any  length  of  time. 
The  only   thing   is 
to  know  what  to  do 
to  find  it,  and  if  you 
read  three  minutes 
longer,     you      will 
know   all  about  it. 
"How  can  we  find  a  lost  child?" 
The  first  thing  you  must  do  after    the    child    is  lost 
is    to    go    to    the    Police    Headquarters    on    Mulberry 
street,  near   Houston.     Away  up  in   the  fifth  story  of 
that  marble-front  building  are  three  rooms  labeled 

"LOST  CHILDREN'S  DEPARTMENT." 
This  Lost  Child's  Department  was  established  in  1864. 


LOST  IN  THE  PARK. 


238 

Here  you  will  see  a  dozen  cozy  cribs,  cradles,  and 
beds  for  the  little  lost  children  and  foundlings  of  the 
city.  Yes,  and  sometimes  for  old  men  and  women,  too, 
lost  in  their  second  childhood. 

At  the  head  of  this  department  you  will  see  the 
middle-aged  matron,  Mrs.  Ewing — a  bright,  systematic 
American  woman. 

"How  do  the  lost  children  get  here?" 
First  they  are  picked  up  by  kind-hearted  policemen 
and  taken  to  their  respective  station-houses.  There 
they  are  kept  until  seven  P.M.  Then  the  Sergeant  of 
Police  sends  them  with  a  ticket  to  Mrs.  Ewing,  at 
Police  Headquarters. 

"What  does  Mrs.  Ewing  do  with  them?" 
She  first  enters  the  child's  name  on  the  book,  gives 
it  a  number,   then    writes  its  sex,  age,  color,  by  whom 
found,  where  found,  precinct   sent  from,   and  time  re- 
ceived.    Then,  after  the  child  is  gone,  she  writes  after 
its  name  how  long  it  stayed,  and  what  became  of  it. 
"What  becomes  of  the  children  sent  here?" 
Every    effort    is   made    to  find    out  where    the   child 
lives,  who  its  parents  are,  the   father's  profession,  etc. ; 
and  if,  at  the  end  of  three  days,  nothing  is  heard  from 
its  parents   or  friends,   it   is  sent   to    George    Kellock, 
No.  66   Third    avenue,    Superintendent    of    the    "  Out- 
Door  Poor"  for   the    Department  of  Public    Charities 
and  Correction. 
"What  then?" 

Here,  in  the  Charity  and  Correction  building,  are 
some  nice  rooms  kept  by  a  good  woman  by  the  name 
of  Tumey,  and  the  children  are  cared  for  till  the  old 


239 

nurse  named  "  Charity  "  takes  them  in  a  carriage  to  the 
foot  of  Twenty-sixth  street  and  the  East  River,  and 
accompanies  them  on  the  boat  to  the  Foundling 
Hospital  on  Randall's  Island,  where  they  stay  at  school 
till  they  are  claimed,  bound  out,  or  become  old  enough 
to  support  themselves. 

We  have  now  followed  the  lost  child  from  the  time 
when  first  lost,  through  the  local  station-house,  police 
headquarters,  Mr.  Kellock's  office,  and  to  Randall's 
Island. 

LOST    BABIES. 

Now  we  will  return  to  the  Police  Headquarters  and 
hear  what  Mrs.  Ewing  says  about  the  babies. 

"How  many  children  are  lost  per  month?"  I  asked 
of  the  matron. 

"  I  had  eight  yesterday.  From  400  to  500  pass 
through  our  hands  every  month  in  summer,  but  in 
winter  not  so  many.  Then,  sometimes,  we  have  old 
people  too." 

"  Do  you  have  many  old  people  ?" 

"No,  only  a  few.  Yesterday  the  police  brought,  in 
a  nice  old  lady  with  white  hair,  who  seemed  to  be  all 
in  confusion.  The  sight  of  the  police  had  frightened 
her,"  continued  the  matron,  "but  as  soon  as  I  got  her 
in  here,  I  gave  her  a  nice  cup  of  tea,  and  commenced 
to  find  out  where  she  lived. 

'Who  do  you  live  with,  grandma?'  I  asked,  for  she 
was  eighty  years   old. 

"  She  said  she  lived  No.  700,  but  she  didn't  know 
the  street.  Then  pretty  soon  she  seemed  to  gain  con- 


240 

fidence  in  me,  and  she  took  out  a  big  roll  of  bank 
bills  and  a  Third  Avenue  Savings  Bank  book. 

"'See,'  said  the  old  lady,  confidentially,  'I  went  to 
get  this  and  I  got  confused  when  I  came  out.  I  live 
on  the  same  street  with  the  bank.' 

"  And  sure  enough,"  said  the  matron,  "  when  we 
looked  in  the  directory  there  we  found  her  daughter's 
residence,  No.  700  Third  avenue.  When  the  police 
took  the  old  lady  home  the  daughter  was  half  crazy 
for  fear  her  mother  had  been  robbed." 

"  Do  you  have  a  good  deal  of  trouble  in  finding 
out  the  residences  of  children?" 

"  Not  very  often.  But  sometimes  the  children  stray 
across  the  ferries  from  Jersey  City  and  Brooklyn ;  and 
then  there  are  so  many  streets  in  Brooklyn  and  Jersey 
named  after  our  streets  that  we  are  sorely  puzzled. 

"  The  other  day,  to  illustrate,  a  pretty  little  German 
girl  was  picked  up  down  towards  Fulton  street.  The 
only  thing  she  knew  was  that  she  lived  corner  of 
Warren  and  Broadway,  so  the  police  brought  her  up 
here.  I  sent  her  the  next  day  to  the  corner  of  War- 
ren and  Broadway,  but  there  were  nothing  but  ware- 
houses there,  so  we  were  very  much  puzzled.  When 
the  little  girl  came  back  I  thought  her  heart  would 
break.  The  tears  rolled  down  her  cheeks,  and  her 
face  was  hot  with  fever.  O,  it  was  roasting  hot !  I 
was  afraid  she  would  be  sick.  So  I  said : 

"  *  Sissy,  don't  cry  any  more — lie  down,  and  when 
you  wake  up  your  papa  will  be  here.' 

"'Oh,  will  he  come,  sure,  will  he?'  sobbed  the  little 
girl 


241 


"'Yes,  my  child,'  I  said,  and  then  I  put  her  in  the 
crib.  She  had  a  paper  of  peanuts  and  seventy  cents 
in  her  pocket,  which  she  said  her  mother  gave  her. 
These  I  put  before  her  on  a  chair,  and  the  little  thing 
soon  fell  asleep. 

"About  two  o'clock  in  the 
morning,"  continued  the  ma- 
tron, "  somebody  knocked  at 
the  door.  I  got  up  and  struck 
a  light,  and  as  I  opened  it  a 
man  asked — 

"  *  Have  you  got  a  little  lost 
girl  here?' 

"'Yes,  we've  got  three  little 
girls  here  to-night,'  I  said. 

"'But  have  you  got  a  little 
with  long  golden  hair,  dressed 
in  a  little  red  hood  and  a  plaid 
shawl?' 

" '  Yes,  just  such  a  one.  Come 
in  and  see  her.' 

"  Then,"  continued  the  matron,  "  I  called  all  the 
children  up,  and  he  came  in.  The  light  shone  on  the 
little  girl's  face,  as  she  stood  there  waiting.  In  a  sec- 
ond the  father  had  her  in  his  arms. 

" '  How  did  you  get  over  here,  baby  ?'  he  cried,  as 

he   held   his    rough   beard   against  her  face.     But   the 

little  child  only  sobbed  and  clung  to  him  all  the  more." 

"What  was  the  child's  mistake  about  the  street?"  I 

asked. 

"  Well,  she   lived   corner   of  Broadway   and   Walton 
L 


**A  LIGHT  SHONE  ON  THE  LITTLE 
GIRL'S  FACE." 


242 

street,  Brooklyn,  and    she    spoke  Walton  as  if  it  were 
Warren." 

A    QUEER    CASE. 

A  while  ago  a  little  boy,  three  and  a  half  years  old, 
living  in  Passaic  Village,  New  Jersey,  strayed  away 
from  home.  He  wandered  to  the  railroad,  and  when 
he  saw  a  car  stop  he  thought  it  would  be  a  nice  thing 
to  take  a  ride.  So  he  climbed  tip  the  steps,  got  into 
the  car,  and  rode  to  Jersey  City.  When  the  car  stopped 
he  wandered  on  to  the  ferry-boat  with  the  surging 
crowd  of  passengers,  and  was  soon  at  the  foot  of 
Courtlandt  street,  in  the  great  City  of  New  York. 
Here  he  played  around  a  little  while  in  high  glee.  By 
and  by,  as  night  came  on,  he  began  to  be  hungry  and 
to  cry  for  his  father  and  mother.  So  a  kind-hearted 
policeman  picked  him  up,  took  him  to  the  station-house, 
and  the  sergeant  sent  him  to  Mrs.  Ewing's,  at  Police 
Head-quarters. 

As  soon  as  little  Johnny  was  missed  at  home  in 
Passaic,  the  search  commenced.  Dinner  came,  and  no 
Johnny — then  supper  passed,  and  the  father  and  mother 
began  to  be  frantic.  They  searched  everywhere  for 
two  days  and  two  nights.  The  big  foundry  at  Passaic 
was  stopped,  and  one  hundred  workmen  scoured  the 
country.  Then,  as  a  last  resort,  his  heart-broken  fa- 
ther came  to  New  York.  After  putting  an  advertise- 
ment in  the  Herald,  he  thought  he  would  go  to  Police 
Headquarters. 

Johnny  was  such  a  bright  little  boy  that  the  matron 
had  taken  him  out  with  her  shopping  on  Broadway, 


243 

when  the  father  came,  so  he  sat  down  till- her  return, 
to  question  her  about  lost  children. 

Judge  of  his  astonishment  and  joy,  after  fifteen  min- 
utes' waiting,  when  Johnny  .came  flat  upon  him  with  the 
matron. 

"Why,  my  little  boy!"  cried  the  father,  "how  did 
you  get  here  ?"  But  Johnny  was  too  full  of  joy  to 
reply,  and  when  his  father  went  off  to  the  telegraph 
office  to  tell  the  glad  news  to  his  mother,  he  cried 
till  his  father  took  him  along  too,  and  he  wouldn't  let 
go  his  father's  hand  till  he  got  clear  back  to  Passaic, 
for  fear  he  would  be  lost  again. 

RICH    CHILDREN. 

"  Do  you  ever  have  any  rich  people's  children  here?" 
I  asked  the  matron. 

"  Yes,  frequently.  They  get  lost,  shopping  with  their 
mothers  on  Broadway,  and  the  Broadway  Police  have 
orders  not  to  take  the  lost  children  whom  they  find 
to  the  station  house,  but  to  bring  them  directly  here. 
And  here  their  fathers  and  mothers  frequently  come 
after  them." 

"What  other  children  get  cared  for  here?"  I  asked. 

"Well,  the  little  Italian  harp  boys  frequently  come 
here  with  the  police  to  stay  over  night,  but  after  they 
get  a  nice  warm  breakfast,  they  suddenly  remember 
where  they  live,  and  we  let  them  go.  They  are  very 
cute,  they  are!" 

WHAT    I    SAW. 

Yesterday   I   met   in   the   great,    seething    Broadway 


244 

crowd  three  little  lost  children.  They  were  struggling 
in  the  ceaseless  ebb  and  flow  of  humanity  on  the  corner 
of  Fourteenth  street,  just  by  the  statue  of  Lincoln. 
The  youngest  was  a  baby  in.  arms,  the  next  was  a  little 
girl  prattler  of  three  years,  and  the  eldest,  a  boy,  was, 
I  should  say,  five.  The  little  boy  held  the  little  baby 
tightly,  and  sobbed  as  if  his  swelling  heart  would  break, 
while  the  little  girl  only  looked  very  sad,  without  cry- 
ing. She  wasn't  old  enough  to  know  that  she  was 
lost.  I  was  so  much  interested  that  I  watched  them 
for  some  minutes  to  see  what  they  would  do,  but  the 
more  they  walked  the  more  they  got  lost.  Pretty  soon 
they  sat  down  on  the  curbstone,  and  the  little  girl  laid 
her  head  in  the  little  boy's  lap,  while  he  continued  to 
sob.  Now  quite  a  crowd  collected  around  them,  ask- 
ing them  all  sorts  of  questions,  which  they  could  not 
answer.  They  could  not  even  tell  where  they  lived — 
not  even  the  street.  In  a  few  moments  a  policeman 
came  along  and  tried  to  find  out  where  the  little  things 
lived,  but  the  more  he  questioned  them  the  more 
frightened  they  got. 

"Shall  I  take  you  to  your  mother,  Johnny ?"•  asked 
the  policeman,  patting  the  little  boy  on  the  cheek ;  but 
Johnny  kept  on  saying  as  he  had  said  for  the  last  half 
nour,  "  O,  I  want  my  ma  !" 

"  Well,  Johnny,"  said  the  policeman,  "  come  with 
me  and  we  will  find  ma.  We'll  go  and  see  her." 

So  Johnny  took  hold  of  one  of  the  policeman's  hands 
and  his  little  sister  the  other,  while  he  carried  the 
baby  in  his  arms  and  they  all  went  off  down  Broad- 
way to  the  lost  child  department  to  find  their  mother. 


245 


But  alas!  they  did  not  find  her. 

After  the  theater,  being  down 
town,  I  thought  I  would  run  in 
and  see  Mrs.  Ewing  and  the 
children.  The  kind  matron  had 
five  lost  children  asleep  in  her 
cradles  and  cribs. 

"What  has  become  of  the 
little  boy  and  girl?"  I  asked. 
"  Here  they  are,"  she  said, 
"by  the  fire  waiting  patiently." 
And  there  they  were.  Johnny 
had  the  little  baby  asleep  in  his 
arms,  and  his  little  sister  was 
looking  on  and  trying  to  advise 
him  what  to  do.  They  were 
tending  the  baby  like  a  little 
father  and  mother. 

I  suppose  their  parents  have 
been  to  get  them  before  this 
time,  but  it  is  a  queer  thing  that 
there  are  so  many  people  who 
have  never  heard  of  the  "  Lost  Children's  Department," 
and  when  they  lose  their  children  they  do  not  know 
where  to  go  to  find  them.  Remember  this,  parents  : 
Whenever  your  child  is  lost,  go  straight  to  your  own 
police  station,  and  if  the  child  is  not  there,  go  to  Mrs. 
E wing's  rooms  at  Police  Headquarters,  on  Mulberry 
street. 


JOHNNY  AND  THE  BABY. 


THE    ABSENT-MINDED    MAN. 


GEORGE  HARDING,  Esq.,  the  distinguished  Philadel- 
phia patent  lawyer,  and  a  brother  of  William  Harding, 
the  accomplished  editor  of  the  Philadelphia  Inquirer, 
is  remarkable  for  a  retentive  memory. 

On  Saturday,  Mr.  Harding  rode  down  to  Wall  street 
in  a  Broadway  omnibus.  At  the  Domestic  Sewing- 
Machine  building  a  beautiful  young  lady  got  in  and 
handed  fifty  cents  to  the  distinguished  attorney,  re- 
questing him  to  please  hand  it  to  the  driver. 

"With  pleasure,"  said  Mr.  Harding,  at  the  same  time 
passing  the  fifty  cents  up  through  the  hole  to  the 
stage-man. 

The  driver  made  the  change,  and  handed  forty  cents 
back  to  Mr.  Harding,  who  quietly  put  it  away  into  his 
vest  pocket,  and  went-  on  reading  a  mowing-machine 
brief. 

Then  all  was  silence. 

The  young  lady  began  to  look  nervously  at  Mr. 
Harding  for  her  change.  "  Can  it  be  possible  that  this 
is  one  of  those  polite  confidence  men  we  read  of  in 
books  ?"  she  thought  to  herself. 

Then  she  looked  up  timidly  and  asked  Mr.  Harding 
something  about  the  Brooklyn  Ferry. 

"  Oh,  the  boats  run  very  regular — every  three  min- 
utes," replied  the  interrupted  lawyer,  trying  to  smile. 
Then  he  went  on  reading  his  brief. 


247 

"Do  the  boats  run  from  Wall  street  to  Astoria?" 
continued  the  young  lady. 

"  I  don't  know,  madame,"  replied  Mr.  H.,  petu- 
lantly ;  "  I'm  not  a  resident  of  New  York  :  I'm  a 
Philadelphian." 

"Ah  !  yes  "—(then  a  silence). 

Mr.  Harding  again  buried  himself  in  his  brief,  while 
the  young  lady  a/iemed  and  asked  him  what  the  fare 
was  in  the  New  York  stages. 

"Why,  ten  cents,  madame — ten  cents." 

"  But  I  gave  you  fifty  cents  to  give  to  the  driver," 
interrupted  the  young  lady,  "and " 

"Didn't  he  return  your  change?  Is  it  possible? 
Here,  driver !"  the  lawyer  continued,  dropping  the  brief 
and  pulling  the  strap  violently,  "why  the  dickens  don't 
you  give  the  lady  her — forty  cents,  sir,  forty  cents?" 

"  I  did  give  her  the  change.  I  gave  forty  cents  to 
you,  and  you  put  it  in  your  own  pocket,"  shouted 
back  the  driver. 

"  To  me  ?"  said  Mr.  Harding,  feeling  in  his  vest 
pocket,  from  which  his  fingers  brought  out  four  ten- 
cent  notes.  "  Gracious  goodness,  madame !  I  beg  ten 

thousand  pardons  ;  but — but " 

"  Oh,  never  mind,"  said  the  lady,  eye- 
ing him  suspiciously;  "you  know  a  lady 
in  a  wicked  city  like  New  York  has  to 
look  out  for  herself.,  It's  no  matter — 
it  wasn't  the  forty  cents ;  but  before  I 

left  home  mother  cautioned  me  against 
-OH,  NEVER  MIND!"  polite     confidence    men>    who    look    so 

good   outside,  but " 


248 

"Goodness  gracious!  my  dear  woman!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Harding,  while  all  the  passengers  eyed  him  with 
suspicion.  "  I  assure  you " 

But  the  stage  stopped  then,  and  the  young  lady, 
holding  fast  to  her  port-money,  got  out  and  fled  into 
the  Custom  House,  while  Mr.  Harding  went  on  filling 
up  in  this  form  : 

"  Goodness  gracious  !  Did  you  ever  ?  O  Lord  ! 
what  shall  I  do?"  etc. 

The  distinguished  lawyer  got  so  excited  about  the 
affair  that  he  went  back  to  Philadelphia  next  morning 
— a  ruined  man.  He  even  forgot  to  take  a  $10,000 
fee  which  Ketchum  was  to  pay  him  in  a  mowing-ma- 
chine case.  He  says  he'd  rather  pay  $10,000  than  to 
let  the  Philadelphia  fellows  get  hold  of  the  story,  for 
fear  they  would  be  asking  him  what  he  wanted  to  do 
with  that  poor  woman's  forty  cents. 


TWO   HUNDRED    MILLIONS   OF   DOLLARS! 

Two  hundred  what ! 

Two  hundred  millions  of  dollars  ;  and  that  is  just  the 
amount  of  money  and  credits  which  the  twelve  great 
business  houses  following  this  page  represent. 

Twelve  such  solid,  substantial,  and  time-worn  business 
establishments  were  never  before  collected  together  in 
America.  Each  house  is  acknowledged  by  general  con- 
sent to  be  the  leading  house  in  its  line  in  this  country ; 
their  cards  are  not  placed  in  this  book  for  any  personal 
gain,  but  they  are  placed  here  that  posterity  may  know 
about  the  richest  and  most  respectable  business  houses 
which  have  honored  the  present  century.  It  is  a  mat- 
ter of  pure  benevolence. 

For  example : —  The  house  of  Chickering  &  Sons 
is  placed  in  this  book  because  it  has  made  and  sold 
47,000  of  the  best  pianos  produced  during  the  century; 

Brewster  &  Co.  of  Broome  street,  because  everybody 
from  London  to  San  Francisco  has  ridden  or  dreamed 
of  riding  in  one  of  their  carriages ; 

Herring  &  Co.,  because  their  safes  in  Europe  and 
America  are  known  to  be  the  strongest  and  the  most 
thoroughly  fire  and  burglar  proof ; 

Tiffany  &  Co.,  because  their  great  house  makes  the 
fashions  in  jewelry  for  the  continent,  and  because  they 
sell  more  diamonds,  and  bronzes,  and  silver,  and  precious 
stones  than  all  the  jewellers  in  the  United  States; 

Dunlap  &  Co.,  because  their  immense  factory  has 
placed  their  hats  on  every  gentleman's  head  from  Sara- 
toga to  New  -Orleans  ; 

Otis  Brothers  &  Co.,  because  their  passenger  elevators 
have  no  competition  for  absolute  safety  and  beauty,  and 
because  they  are  universally  adopted  ; 


The  Fifth  Avenue  Hotel,  because  it  has  been  for 
twenty-five  years  the  largest,  most  elegant,  and  most  aris- 
tocratic hotel  in  the  great  Empire  City; 

The  Domestic  Sewing-Machine  Company,  because  they 
sell  the  lightest  running  machine,  and  more  of  them,  than 
any  other  sewing-machine  company  in  this  country ; 

The  Mutual  Life  Insurance  Company,  because  it  is  the 
oldest,  and  because  its  $72,000,000  in  money  and  credits 
make  it  the  solidest,  insurance  company  in  the  world ; 

John  Foley's  gold  pens,  because  one  of  them  wrote 
this  book,  and  because  they  are  used  by  everybody ; 

Caswell,  Hazard  &  Co.,  because  for  one  hundred  years 
— almost  four  generations — their  house  has  been  the 
leading  drug  house  in  America ; 

The  Hanover  Fire  Insurance  Company,  because  it  is 
the  most  venerable  institution  of  its  class,  in  New  York ; 

Brooks  Brothers,  because  for  half-a-century  they  have 
maintained  the  largest  clothing  house  in  the  country ; 

The  John  Russell  Cutlery  Company,  because  their 
Green  River  Cutlery  Works  cover  more  ground  and  turn 
out  more  and  better  cutlery  than  any  other  establishment 
in  the  world,  Sheffield  not  excepted  ; 

Heiter  &  Gans,  because  their  umbrella  manufactory  is 
the  largest  in  the  world,  and  because  they  have  just  paid 
$200,000  for  their  new  automatic  umbrella  patent,  which 
every  future  umbrella  must  have ; 

The  Grand  Union  Hotel,  Saratoga,  because  James  H. 
Breslin  keeps  it,  and  because  A.  T.  Stewart,  with  his 
$60,000,000,  has  made  it  the  costliest  and  grandest 
watering  place  hotel  in  the  whole  world ;  and 

Enoch  Morgan's  Sons,  because  John  Morgan's  Sapolio 
has  become  a  household  word  and  a  houseliold  necessity 
from  Rome  to  the  Rocky  Mountains,  wherever  the 
English  or  any  other  civilized  language  is  spoken. 


CHICKERING  &  SONS' 
CIRAND,  SQUAEE  and  UPEIGHT 

PIANO-FORTES 


StcurLd.cLrcL  ^LCLTLOS  of  tUe,  ~Wo-rlci 

And  accorded  the  highest  honors  by  LIZST,  THALBERG, 
Dr.  MEYER,  GOTTSCHALK,  JAELL,  HALLE,  REINECKE, 
RITTER,  and  more  than  100  other  of  the  world's  great 
artists.  They  say  the  Chiclcering  Piano  is  superior 
to  all  others. 


Over  47,000  Made  and  Sold. 


(Pianos  sold  on  easy    monthly  payments, 
and  at  regular  catalogue  prices. 

Catalogues   and   price    lists   mailed   free,   on  applica- 
tion to 

CHICKERING  &  SONS, 

11  East  14th  Street,  New  York. 


Established  1841. 


HER  HI  NO'S 

CHAMPION  SAFES, 

Tried  in  over  1,OOO  Fires  and  "  Proved 
Trust  worthy." 

Bank  Vaults   and  Safes, 

CABINET  SAFES  FOR  DWELLINGS, 


MANUFACTURED     BY 


HERRING  &  CO., 

251  CT°  252  Broadivay,  New  York. 
56  6°  60  Sudbury  Street,  Boston. 


174   Fifth  Avenue,  589  Broadway, 

Wholesale  Department,  132   Mercer  St., 

NKW     YORK, 

HATTERS. 

English    Hats   a   specialty.      Latest    styles   always   on    hand. 


CO., 

Sole  Agents  in   the  United   States  for  Martin's  Celebrated  London  Umbrellas. 

Our     CeleBrated     New     York     Hats 

Can  be  obtained  of  our  Authorized  Agents  in  the  Principal  Cities,  as  follows  : 


ALBANY, 

INDIANAPOLIS, 

PLATTSBURGH,  N.Y., 

Geo.  E.  Latham. 

Ed.  Hasson  &  Co. 

E.  Hathaway  &  Son. 

ATLANTA,  GA., 

LEXINGTON,  KY., 

POUGHKEEFS1E,  N.Y., 

Lew.  H.  Clarke. 

J.  B.  Richardson. 

E.  Van  Kleek. 

AUGUSTA,  GA., 

LOUISVILLE. 

PROVIDENCE, 

C.  B.  Dodd  &  Co. 

G.  C.  Dubois. 

Elsbree  &  Valleau. 

BALTIMORE, 
R.  Q.  Taylor. 

MILWAUKEE, 
F.  R.  Pantke  &  Co. 

RICHMOND,  VA., 
0.  M.  Marshall. 

BLOOMINGTON,  ILL., 
Dewenter  &  Kreitzer. 

MADISON,  Wis., 
M.  S.  Rowley  &  Co. 

ROCHESTER, 
Marion  &  Clark. 

BOSTON, 

MINNEAPOLIS,  MINN., 

SARATOGA, 

Jackson  &  Co. 

Fuller  &  Simpson. 

A.  R.  Barret. 

BUFFALO, 

NEWARK,  O., 

SAVANNAH, 

Wm.  Wippert. 
BURLINGTON,  VT., 

O.  G.  King. 
NEWARK,  N.J., 

R.  B.  Hilyard. 
SPRINGFIELD,  MASS., 

B.  Turk  &  Bro. 
CHARLESTON,  S.C., 

C.  H.  Whitney. 
NEW  BEDFORD,  MASS.. 

Sanderson  &  Son. 
ST.  Louis.  Mo., 

J.  R.  Johnson. 

C.  M.  Haskell. 

Lewis  &  Groshen. 

CHICAGO, 

NEWBURGH,  N.  Y., 

ST.  PAUL, 

James  P.  Brewster. 
CINCINNATI, 

W.  J.  Whited. 
NEW  HAVEN,  CONN., 

R.A.  Lanpher  &  Co. 
SPRINGFIELD,  ILL., 

A.B.Burkhardt  &  Co. 

Brooks  &  Co. 

C.  Wolf  &  Co. 

CLEVELAND, 
Jfi.  Stair  &  Co. 

Crofut  &  Co. 
NEW  ORLEANS,  LA., 

SYRACUSE, 
Wm.  P.  Sabey  &  Co. 

DAYTON,  O., 

Henri  Brisbi. 

TOLEDO,  O., 

Aulabaugh  Bros. 

NEWPORT,  R.I., 

M.  L.  Paddock; 

DETROIT, 
Walter  Buhl  &  Co. 
EASTON,  PA., 

J.  H.  Cozzens&  Co. 
OMAHA,  NEB.. 
C.  H.  Frederick. 

TROY, 
E.W.  Boughton  &  Co. 
UTICA, 

A.  T.  Drinkhouse. 
ELMIRA, 
Stuart  &  Ufford. 

OSWEGO,  N.Y., 

Buckhout  &  Barnes. 
PARIS,  KY., 

Geo.  Westcott  &  Co. 
WARREN,  O., 
Adams  &  Co. 

E  VANSVILLE,  IND., 

G.  R.  Bell. 

WASHINGTON,  D.C., 

J.  H.  Dannettell. 

PEORIA,  ILL., 

Willett&  Ruoff. 

FORT  WAYNE,  IND., 

G.  W.  H.Gilbert. 

WATERTOWN,  N.  Y., 

Singer  &  Pyke. 
GRAND  RAPIDS, 

PHILADELPHIA, 
W.H.  Oakford. 

McKay  &  Gennet. 

WlLKESBARRE,  PA., 

H.  D.  Wood  &  Co. 

PITTSBURGH, 

G.  L.  Palmer. 

HARTFORD,  CONN., 

Fleming  &  Oglevee. 

WORCESTER,  MASS., 

James  Daniel  s. 

PlTTSFIELD,  MASS., 

Day  &  Hartwell. 

HARRISBURG, 

E.G.  Judd. 

Jas.  Clarke. 

6 

PASSENGER 
FREIGHT 

ELEVATORS 

FOR    HOTELS,    OFFICE    BUILDINGS,    STORES,    WARE^ 

HOUSES,  FACTORIES,  MINES,  BLAST 

FURNACES,  &c. 

RAPID,  SMOOTH  AND  NOISELESS  in  movement;  fuel 
and  maintenance  reduced  to  a  minimum,  and  provided 
with 

SAFETY   APPLIANCES 

Preventing  Accidents  of  all -kinds, 

The  following  are  a  few  of  the  buildings  fitted  with  our 
PASSENGER   ELEVATORS: 

WESTERN  UNION   TELEGRAPH  CO.     .     .     New  York. 

ST.  NICHOLAS  HOTEL 

DREXEL  BUILDING 

EVENING  EXPRESS  BUILDING      .... 

MASONIC  TEMPLE 

GRAND  UNION  HOTEL     ....      Saratoga  Springs,  N.  Y. 

BARNUM'S  CITY  HOTEL Baltimore. 

ST.  CHARLES  HOTEL New  Orleans.* 

MAXWELL  HOUSE Nashville. 

GALT  HOUSE Louisville. 

FIELD,  LEITER  &  CO.,  new  store      ....     Chicago. 

PALMER  HOUSE 

TRIBUNE  BUILDING 

MO.  REPUBLICAN  BUILDING St.  Louis. 

ST.  LOUIS  MUTUAL  LIFE  BUILDING.     . 
OCCIDENTAL  HOTEL San  Francisco, 

OTIS  BROTHERS  &  CO., 

SOLE  MANUFACTURERS, 

348  Broadway,  New  York, 


GOOD   NOVELS! 


WE  AND  OUR  NEIGHBORS:  or,  The,  Records  of  an  Unfash- 
ionable Street.  A  Sequel  to  My  Wife  and  I.  By  Harriet  Beecher 
Stowe.  Illustrated.  12mo.  Fancy  Stamped  Cloth.  $1.75. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  best  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  novels ;  and  Mrs.  Stowe  is 
incapable  of  writing  a  poor  one."— St.  Louis  Globe. 

"  The  story  is  in  the  author's  best  and  liveliest  vein,  and  never  flags 

even  for  a  moment The  illustrations  will  bear  a  much 

closer  examination  than  the  average  engravings  of  the  period."— 
Detroit  Free  Press. 

MYWIFE  AND  I:  or,  Harry  Henderson's  History.    A  Novel.    By 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe.    12mo.    Illustrated.    $1.75. 
"  Always  bright,  piquant,  and  entertaining,  with  an  occasional  touch 
of  tenderness,  strong  because   subtle,  keen   in   sarcasm,  full  of 
womanly  logic  directed  against  unwomanly  tendencies."— Boston 
Journal. 

THE  ABBE  TIGRANE:   Candidate  for  the  Papal  Chair.    From 
the  French   of  Ferdinand   Fabre.     Translated  by  Rev.  Leonard 
Woolsey  Bacon.    12mo.    Gilt  and  Ink-stamped  Cloth.    $1.50. 
A  brilliant  picture  of  life— interesting  from  beginning  to  end.    It  is  a 

French  novel  without  immorality ;  a  tale  of  intrigue  without  women  ; 

and  altogether  an  original,  piquant  and  readable  story. 

NORWOOD  J  or,  Village  Life  in  New  England.   A  Novel.  By  HENRY 
WARD  BEECHER.     Illustrated  by  ALFRED    FREDERICKS.     12mo. 
Price,  $2.00. 
"  Embodies  more  of  the  high  art  of  fiction  than  any  half  dozen  of  the 

best  novels  of  the  best  authors  of  the  day."— Albany  Evening  Journal. 

TOINETTE:  A  Tale  of  Transition.  By  Henry  Churton.  12mo.  516 
pp.  $1.50. 

"A  picturesque,  vivid,  passionate  story Calculated  to 

entertain  and  deeply  impress.  The  average  novel  reader  will  be 
delighted,  and  there  is  that  in  it  which  will  attract  the  most  cultivated 
and  fastidious."— Cincinnati  Times. 

THE  CIRCUIT  RIDER  ;  A  TaU  of  the  Heroic  Age.  By  Edward 
Eggleston.  13mo.  Illustrated.  $1.75. 

"The  breezy  freshness  of  the  Western  prairie,  blended  with  the  re- 
finements of  literary  culture.  It  is  alive  with  the  sound  of  rushing 
streams  and  the  echoes  of  the  forest,  but  shows  a  certain  graceful 
self-possession  which  betrays  the  presence  of  the  artist's  power."— 
N.  Y.  Tribune. 

BRAVE  HEARTS.  A  Novel.  By  Roberston  Gray  (R.  W.  Ray- 
mond). 13mo.  Illustrated.  $1.75. 

"Its  pictures  of  the  strange  life  of  those  early  California  days  are 
simply  admirable,  quite  as  good  as  anything  Bret  Harte  has  written." — 
Literary  World. 
A  GOOD  MATCH.    A  Novel.    By  Amelia  Perrier.    1vol.    12mo. 

Cloth.    $1.50. 

"  A  very  readable  love  story,  ten-  i  "  The  characters  appear  and  act 
derly  told."— Hearth  and,  Home.  \  with  a  real  lite."— Providence  Press. 


To  be  had  of  all  Booksellers,  or  will  be  sent  to  any 
address  post-paid,  on  receipt  of  the  price  by 

J.  B.  FORD  &  COMPANY,  Publishers, 

2'f  Park  Place,  New  York. 


"DOMESTIC"  BUILDING, 


Light  Running   J Domestic" 

SEWING    MACHINE. 


10 


THE  MUTUAL   LIFE   INSURANCE 


OIF1    2STETW    YORK. 
140     to     146     BROADWAY. 

F.  S.  WINSTON.  President. 


11 


BROOKS     BROTHERS 


CLOTHING  HOUSE, 

Broadway,  Corner  of  Bond  Street, 
NEW  YORK. 


ESTABLISHED     1870. 


CASWELL,  HAZARD  &  Co., 

cu~LcL 


NEW  YORK  and  NEWPORT,  R.I., 

DEALERS    IN   THE 


MANUFACTURERS    OF 

PURE,   SWEET   COD-  LIVER   OIL. 
FERRO-PHOSPHORATED    ELIXIR   OF   CALISAYA    BARK 

AND   ALL  OTHER   ELIXIRS. 

COLOGNE  AND  Toi  LET  WATERS. 

Toilet  No.  6,  Verbena,  Lavender,  Rose,  Geranium, 
SACHET    POWDERS. 


SURGICAL    INSTRUMENTS 


IN    THE 

CHOICEST  FOREIGN  PERFUMES,  HANDKERCHIEF  EXTRACTS,  &c. 

Including  ^ffendrie's  "  celebrated  Extracts  from  London, 

13 


HANOVER 
Fire  Insurance  Company 

OF  THE  CITY  OF  NEW  YORK. 


1 20  BROADWAY,  COR.  CEDAR  ST. 


Cash  Assets  (Jan.  i,  1875)  -   -  $1, 


BENJAMIN    S.  WALCOTT,  President. 

I.  REMSEN  LANE,  Sec'y.  THOMAS  JAMES,  Actuary. 

C.  L.  ROE,  Ass't  Sec'y. 


AUTOMATIC 


HEITER  &  CANS, 

349  BROADWAY,  NEW  YORK. 

MANUFACTURERS   OF  THE 

Self-Operating  Automatic  Umbrella, 


The  Automatic  Umbrella  prevents  sore  thumbs, 
pinched  fingers  or  ruined  gloves. 

This  new  patent,  the  only  real  improvement  in 
umbrellas  for  years,  protects  the  umbrella  spring  and 
keeps  it  constantly  in  order. 

-  ASK  — 

for  the  AUTOMATIC. 

FOR  SALE  EVERYWHERE. 

Patented    in   England,   France,    Canada,    and    the 

United  States. 


16 


GRAND  UNION  HOTEL, 

SARATOGA  SPRINGS, 
J.  H.  BRESLIN    &   CO., 


1,OOO    Rooms!          2,OOO    Guests! 


"  The  largest  watering-place  hotel  in  the  world." — -N.  Y.  Herald. 

"  The  most  beautiful  watering-place  hotel  in  the  world." — N.  Y. 
Tribune. 

"  The  most  fashionable  watering-place  hotel  in  the  world." — 
Home  Journal. 

"  J.  H.  Breslin's  Grand  Union  Hotel  is  the  most  beautiful  and 
perfect  hotel  in  Saratoga,  or  in  the  world." — Eli  Perkins's  letters. 

"  No  picture  can  do  justice  to  this  magnificent  hotel,  and  no  page 
is  large  enough  to  display  its  grand  balconies,  beautiful  corridors, 
and  picturesque  grounds.  Its  wonders  must  be  seen." — John  Paul's 
letters. 

"  No  hotel  in  Europe  or  America,  from  Athens  to  San  Francisco, 
so  grand  outside  or  so  admirably  kept  inside.'' — Grace  Greenwoods 
letters. 


Tills  magnificent  hotel  will  be  open  every  year 
from  June  1st  to  October. 

17 


ENOCH   MORGAN'S  SON'S 

SAPOLIO, 

For  Cleaning  and  Polishing, 

There  is  no  Paint,  wood  or  marble,  in  or  about 
your  house  that  Sapolio  will  not  clean  easier, 
quicker  and  better  than  anything  known.  No 
metallic  surface  it  will  not  polish.  It  costs  a  few 
cents.  All  grocers  sell  it. 


Our 

HAND  SAPOLIO 

is  the  best   toilet  and  hand  soap  you  ever  used. 


Send   for  our  pamphlet,  "All  About  Sapolio." 

ENOCH    MORGAN'S  SONS, 

20    Park    Place,   New    York. 


18 


THE  UNIVERSITY  LIBRARY 
UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SANTA  CRUZ 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  DATE  stamped  below. 


50m-6,'67(H2523s8)2373 


3  2106 '00207  5502 


